


i got electric eyes (and i can get you high)

by phylocalist



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DJ Otabek Altin, M/M, Non-Binary Yuri Plisetsky, Trans Character, Trans Yuri Plisetsky, and i love them for that, but also loves to embarrass him, no one skates in this one sorry fellas, viktuuri is background but they're happy husbands, yuri finds himself a family that loves him very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 00:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10425234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phylocalist/pseuds/phylocalist
Summary: There’s a huge roar, almost as deafening as the music, when the person points at the DJ behind the turntable. Yuri can’t help but look around, bewildered. Is this the reason all these people keep talking about this club? Just for this one person?A DJ?or: Yuri Plisetsky loves clubbing. A new club is apparently all the rage, so he checks it out. He ends up finding a lot more than he bargained for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this one honestly took so much out of me, but it's finally done and i'm so happy. i wanted to write something with dj otabek since long ago, but when kubo confirmed he was, in fact, a dj in his spare time, i _really_ needed to write this. thus, the Club Boys™ au came to life. it just... got a little out of hand, considering it was supposed to be a ~5k ficlet. oops? title comes from church of hot addiction by cobra starship. their first two albums were basically what inspired the whole atmosphere and are the soundtrack to the fic, so you'll see them mentioned/referenced a few times.
> 
> eternal and immense thanks to fia [infiniteandsmall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteandsmall) for always cheering me on whenever i'm writing and enabling me to all hell because it makes me happy and makes things like these happen. you're honestly the best? thank u for existing, pal.
> 
> p.s.: did y'all see that trans yuri tag? well yuri changes pronouns around halfway through the fic, so i hope you won't be too put off by that.

The smoke that squeezed at his lungs, the multicolored lights that painted everything in shades of unreal, the music that boomed throughout the place and shook his bones to the very core; it was all so addicting. The moment Yuri had stepped into his first club, he knew he was going to be hopelessly addicted, and almost a year and a half later he still couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Truthfully, it was all Viktor’s fault. He and Chris had been the ones who had dragged Yuri’s barely legal ass into the club they managed as a birthday present. It had expanded Yuri’s world tenfold, who had greedily sucked everything in.

It was, obviously, also Viktor’s fault that he was now scouting out a new club, getting a feel for it and its atmosphere — maybe looking for a person or two to make out with. This was all in the spirit of being a good friend and letting Viktor know about how the competition was looking. It was a _job._

At this point, Yuri isn’t sure if he’s convincing himself or the people around him.

He saunters up to the bar, ordering a coke to the bartender — who kind of reminds him of Mila and now he’s missing the Ice Castle, great. He tries to brush off the weird longing, because he _literally_ was at the Ice Castle yesterday, helping Viktor lock up after Chris had drank too much and eloped into the sunrise with some pole dancer he met. Katsudon had been too busy with some preparations at Yu-topia and hadn’t been able to come to the rescue, so Yuri had to drag his ass off the bed and stay with Viktor until the club closed.

Sipping his coke and trying to forget all about Viktor and his musings, Yuri sweeps over the club with a quick look. There’s nothing too special or out of the ordinary that catches his eye, so he starts to wonder again just _how_ did this club attract so much attention in the little time it’s been open.

As the minutes tick by and the people start coming in through the door more frequently, he gets bored. It’s not that the club is _bad_ , but he’s been to countless clubs and there’s nothing in this one that sparks his interest. Not one person, not one song, not one drink. It’s just… ordinary, which in Yuri’s book equals to boring. With a sigh of defeat and a reprimand at having wasted his time, Yuri gets off the barstool and starts walking towards the exit, trying to push his way past the mass of bodies standing, like, _everywhere_.

A change in the music and the sound of a familiar tune make his steps halt and his eyes open up like saucers. The opening notes of Guilty Pleasure by Cobra Starship boom through the club and Yuri’s lips stretch into a wolfish grin as the atmosphere of the whole club shifts around him, suddenly electrifying where it used to be dull.

Now _this_ is what he’s looking for.

“Everyone’s favorite hour is starting, folks!” A voice shouts through the speakers over the music and Yuri turns back on his heels to look over at the DJ platform, where a person with a microphone is standing next to the DJ. “Welcome back our very own Dark Horse!”

There’s a huge roar, almost as deafening as the music, when the person points at the DJ behind the turntable. Yuri can’t help but look around, bewildered. Is this the reason all these people keep talking about this club? Just for this one person? _A DJ?_

He can’t deny, though, that the atmosphere is so much different now that the current DJ replaced the last one. All the people that were sitting down at the bar and the tables stood up to the dancefloor, only a few stragglers left behind, thus the dancefloor now looks like it’s about to burst with the amount of bodies crammed into it.

And Yuri’s heart is beating so fast with the adrenaline, looking at everyone dancing around, bodies rubbing against bodies, the loud music vibrating inside his chest. As he dances and dances, the smoke curling around his hair like the stranger’s hands running up and down his sides, he feels himself float and he wonders, for the first time ever, if this is what it feels like to get high and, if so, he’s not going to keep his addictive-prone hands off this one-kind of drug.

 

*

 

“Viktor, I _need_ him!”

Yuri slams his hands down on the surface of the bar, startling Mila into almost dropping the glass she’s cleaning and Viktor into actually dropping his inventory list. There’s no one left around but the staff, the club already closed past its usual hours, and Yuri came in like a fury after wandering around the streets in a daze, remembering the Dark Horse’s set over and over.

Viktor picks up his inventory list and then finally seems to process his words, because he smiles ear to ear and looks at Yuri like he’s a proud father and Yuri just told him he got a 100 on his math test. He lets his list drop onto the bar and grabs at Mila’s arm next to him — who’s also got her eyes open in surprise.

“Yuri, did you finally find someone you like?” Viktor asks, shaking Mila in excitement. His voice is really high. “Did you hear that, Mila?!”

Mila lets herself be shaken, already used to Viktor’s antics after years of working with him, and finally scolds her expression into a wicked grin. “Oh, you bet your ass I heard.”

“ _Yes_ , I finally found someone!” Yuri alternates his eyes between the two, almost manic. “You _have_ to recruit him, Viktor. He’s the reason there’s all that talk around the new club two streets down. His sets are _amazing_ and he gets, like, _everyone_ dancing. It’s incredible. I’ll bet anything you want he can turn any boring club into a sensation overnight.”

“Wait, wait.” Viktor frowns, confused. “Who are we talking about, again?”

Yuri frowns right back at him, unsure as to where the confusion even originated. “A DJ?”

Mila explodes into laughter, has to double over to catch her breath. Viktor’s face falls and loses all of the excitement it had before. Yuri’s frown deepens, and he goes over their conversation to figure out exactly what Viktor had misunderstood, when he realizes his own words and blushes furiously.

“I - I meant, _we_ need him! As in  _the club_!”

“Of course you meant that, bad boy.” Mila teases, then lets out another bout of laughter, this one a little less explosive than the one before.

Viktor picks his inventory list back up with a disappointed sigh and a pout, apparently completely uninterested in the conversation now it didn’t entail Yuri’s possible crush on someone. He looks at Viktor in disbelief.

“I’m trying to help you, old man! You need to recruit him!” Viktor gives Yuri a sideways glance and doesn’t even dignify him with a response before going back to his work. Yuri takes both hands to his hair in frustration, grabbing a fistful with each. “Whatever. Just don’t come crying back to me when you go bankrupt!”

He storms off towards the door, pushing his way past Georgi and catching a glimpse of Yuuri coming out of backstage with a confused, worried look.

“Is everything okay?” He hears Katsudon ask.

“Do bring your DJ boyfriend to the club so we can meet him, Yura!” Mila shouts behind him. Yuri flips her off without even looking back, and hears Mila’s laughter as he slams shut the door behind him.

He can’t believe he literally tried to help Viktor out for once in his life and, instead, gave Mila even more material to tease him with, as if she herself didn’t come up with enough. He wraps his arms around himself, absentmindedly thinking he should’ve brought a jacket, and starts walking back to his grandfather’s house.

Whatever. He has school tomorrow and then a work week ahead of him after that. He can worry about somehow convincing the Dark Horse to come over to the Ice Castle next weekend. And, perhaps, enjoy his DJing skills for another hour or two.

Yuri doesn’t stop to ask himself why he’s blushing.

 

*

 

The next weekend arrives too slowly and too quickly all at once. Yuri spends the first half of it tapping his foot impatiently against the floor, counting the minutes until he could get out of work and start enjoying his weekend, and then he gets lost in the flow of school assignments to hand in next sunday and whatever he’s being asked to do at work and suddenly the weekend has crept up on him.

He catches himself smiling, giddy with excitement, as he changes into clubbing-appropriate clothes — which is probably the weirdest way to call them because clubbing-appropriate means it’s actually not appropriate at all. He plants himself in front of the bathroom mirror and grabs his hair up in a loose bun, letting stray hairs fall down around his face in the most effortlessly appealing look. His makeup bag keeps calling him and he finally gives in, taking out a couple of shimmery translucent eyeshadows, eyeliner and a red lipstick.

Yuri applies the eyeshadow with a finger, then takes the black eyeliner in hand and lines his eyes in a cat-eye shape. The lipstick only gets smeared a bit on his lips, coloring them redder than they already are, and after a couple seconds of debating, he applies a hint of it to his cheeks as well. Satisfied, Yuri nods to himself and then walks back into his room to grab the faux-leather jacket laying on his bed.

With a shrug, he puts it on and then turns over to the full-body mirror hanging on a wall of his bedroom. He’s clad in leather-like black from head to toe, a crop top which he customized himself with panels of tiger-print on both sides and low-cut jeans that cling to his legs like he sprayed them on, tying it all up with a pair of studded ankle boots and a velvet choker.

He grins to his reflection and takes off.

Yuri takes a cab to the club this time, and he gets off in front of a huge line of people waiting to be let in, a bright neon sign shining over their heads spelling out in bold, big letters the name of the club: KING. Thanks to endless social media searching, he had found out the Dark Horse played every saturday night for a couple of hours, starting at 1am and ending sometime after 3am. Surprisingly enough, the Dark Horse himself didn’t have any social media accounts to his pseud and nobody knew his actual name. The staff over at KING had been asked about it countless times but it seemed they kept themselves pretty tight-lipped on the matter.

Still, Yuri has been known for his stubbornness and how badly he chases after things he’s determined to get. He is not going to give up on this one. He wants to have — wants _the Ice Castle_ to have the Dark Horse and he’s going to achieve it some way or another.

He stands around in the line for a good while, waiting to be let in, and gets carded by the bouncer because he most definitely didn’t “look old enough to be here, missy.” He doesn’t correct the bouncer on the gendered term even after they look at Yuri’s ID and miss the _Sex: M_ because on one hand, it feels good to be looked at and called like a girl and, on the other hand, it saves him from the gross pat down they do on guys.

After what seems like forever, he’s inside the club and immediately grins as a familiar song greets him. It’s a few minutes past 1 am and the Dark Horse is playing some remix version of Dancing Shoes by the Arctic Monkeys, lighting the dancefloor on fire. Yuri feels the most alive he’s ever felt as he walks to the dancefloor in long strides and joins the mass of bodies already covered in sweat and some other questionable-looking fluids.

He gets so lost in the music and the dancing, the rubbing of barely-clothed bodies against his own, he doesn’t realize how much time has actually passed until there’s a spark running down his spine, sending shivers all over his body. He brushes it off as someone on the dancefloor very intently staring at him, as he’s too comfortable and happy dancing with the strangers around him to actively seek out whoever’s looking at him.

Except, they keep staring and the electricity keeps zapping Yuri’s skin and it’s not actually a terrible feeling. He darts a look towards the direction he thinks the stare is coming from but finds no one in the dancefloor looking at him. He frowns, confused, when the electricity keeps sparking and with a disbelieving gasp, he looks up and up and up until his eyes lock onto the person behind the DJ console, who’s looking straight back at him.

Yuri gives them a playful wink and they must realize they’ve been caught staring because they quickly look away, but Yuri _knows_. The wolfish grin is back on his lips and he starts playing with the hem of his jeans, the edge of his crop top, running his own hands over his abdomen. The high of the Dark Horse’s atmosphere is back ten times stronger when he feels the zap of electricity again. And again.

And then there’s no stop to the shivers as Yuri dances and dances for the Dark Horse only. There’s a hundred more people around him, at least a dozen coming in contact with his body every second, but none of them make them feel the way those eyes on him feel — and they never stop staring.

And, hey, maybe bringing the Dark Horse over to the Ice Castle won’t be as hard as he first thought.

 

*

 

It takes a few weekends — and a thoroughly embarrassing lesson in fashion and _seduction_ by both Viktor and Katsudon who, surprisingly, had way more useful tips on the latter than Viktor. Chris had also somehow found out what they were talking about because he ran over to Viktor and Katsudon’s house to offer his two cents on the matters at hand — but the Dark Horse finally notices him.

Yuri dances the night away until his feet ache and his muscles scream at him. He’s unsure as to whether they’re asking him to keep dancing or stop. He plops down on one of the barstools and tries to catch his breath for a moment, then looks up to call for the bartender and order something to drink, but the voice dies in his throat as he sees the bartender slide a glass of some fruity-looking beverage. Yuri eyes it with distrust and just arches one inquiring eyebrow to the bartender, who’s smiling down at him.

“From the good-looking fella over there.” The bartender points at a person sitting a few stools away, winking and tapping their finger over the small white rectangle of paper under the base of the glass.

Yuri scrunches up his nose, not bothering to thank the bartender as they walk away, and quickly snatches up the paper. He’s not touching the drink. He appreciates the gesture and all, but he can’t possibly know if it’s laced with some drug or something — not that he distrusts KING’s staff, it’s just that he doesn’t trust anyone to give him drinks but Mila and even then he’s dubious about them sometimes.

The paper on his hands is just a small rectangle, business card-sized. There’s barely enough light for him to read it but Yuri somehow makes out a short sentence scrawled on it in neat handwriting.

_I bet (know) you look good on the dancefloor._

_The Dark Horse._

Yuri feels his eyebrows shoot up. Sure, he had been trying to get the Dark Horse’s attention for weeks now, but there was something in the back of his mind always telling him not to get his hopes up. But if this person truly was the Dark Horse as they said, it meant all the weekends spent dancing amongst dozens of bodies had been worth it.

Still. This person is either really shy, anxious or a coward, so Yuri is obviously gonna have to be the one to push the both of them to talk. He motions for the bartender once more and asks for a pen. They let out a chuckle, apparently fully aware of his intentions, and fish one out of their apron.

He writes down a reply on the backside of the paper, with a not nearly as neat handwriting as the other person’s and made even worse by the low lighting. Only a few words, just like the first message he received.

_If you wanna talk, you better say that to my face._

_The one who looks good on the dancefloor._

The bartender notices him putting the pen down and smirks at him, arching an eyebrow in question. He nods and slides them the card over the bar, the side he wrote on facing up. He receives another wink as the bartender slides the card over to the stranger sitting a couple barstools away, who has not once looked over at Yuri’s seat. Unlike them, Yuri turns his body in the direction of the stranger, doesn’t take his eyes off of the self-proclaimed Dark Horse and can clearly see the moment the card surprises them, obviously not expecting to have it returned. They read it over, then finally look over to Yuri, who catches their gaze and waves a hand at them.

Hesitance written all over their body language, they get up their barstool and walk the few steps needed to reach the one next to Yuri’s, sitting down without a word, the card still clutched in their hands. Yuri examines them as well as he can in the changing multicolored lights but can’t really figure out their face under the shadow the cap they’re wearing casts over half their face. A couple beats of silence pass between them.

“I got your Arctic Monkeys reference,” finally says Yuri, breaking the fabricated silence around them, as the music is still loud and very much present in the background. He places one elbow on the bar and rests his head on his fist, looking at the figure with leisure.

The stranger seems to look back at him, because their head angles in his direction a bit. They take off their cap and pass a hand through their hair, which now Yuri can make out is styled in an undercut and highlights the sharp angles of their face. He waits.

“I thought you would,” they say and their voice surprises Yuri a bit because it’s low and rich and soft all at once. “You’ve always seemed to enjoy when I play those.”

Yuri squints, forcing his eyes into finding the features he knows are there but can’t really make out all that well and somehow expect them to give him the answer he’s looking for. When he doesn’t find it, he asks instead. “So, are you really the famous Dark Horse?”

The stranger seems a bit taken aback and finally meets Yuri’s eyes head-on. “Yeah. I have no reason to lie about that.”

Their expression seems serious and Yuri decides to trust them because what the hell. He’s made bigger mistakes just this month than believing a total stranger when they say they’re a famous DJ.

“So, Mister Dark Horse.” Yuri smirks enticingly and crosses his legs, leaning his body forward, the hem of his shorts riding up just the tiniest bit. He doesn’t miss the way the Dark Horse’s eyes flicker to his legs for a second. “What should I call you?”

The Dark Horse seems puzzled by that, furrowing their brow and scrunching up their nose a little. It looks really out of place in their face for some reason, like they’re only meant to stay serious all the time, and it’s kind of adorable.

“I just told you I _am_ the Dark Horse,” they say, and their confused voice just accentuates the expression. It would probably be rude to laugh in their face, so Yuri suppresses it.

“Well, yeah.” He rolls his eyes, completely breaking the “charming” aura Viktor and Katsudon had tried to teach him. “But you _must_ have another name, right? Your parents couldn’t have possibly named you something like Dark Horse.”

A couple minutes pass without an answer from the Dark Horse and Yuri is suddenly starting to panic, thinking they were maybe the child of some weird goth couple who thought naming their kid Dark Horse would be totally cool and Yuri just mocked him for it right in his face and —

“I don’t… tell my name.” Their lips are pursed and they look conflicted. The weird, sudden anxiety leaves Yuri’s body as fast as it appeared.

That answer, though, is not what Yuri was expecting. He sighs, looks at the drink still sitting untouched on the bar and pushes it away from himself, then stands up from the barstool. The Dark Horse’s eyes are on him as Yuri shrugs his cropped jacket back on.

“If you don’t tell yours, then I don’t tell mine,” Yuri says, indifferent, not even looking back at the Dark Horse. He’s aware he’s teetering on dangerous territory, but Katsudon had mentioned something about push and pull, about keeping the other party wanting more. It had sounded ridiculous at the time but — maybe in this situation it could work.

“You’re not gonna drink that?” The Dark Horse’s voice makes Yuri finally look back at them, and they’re pointing at the drink on the bar, one inquisitive eyebrow raised.

Yuri’s smile is laced with acid. It’s condescendent and a challenge at the same time, both demeaning the Dark Horse and calling for them to prove Yuri wrong.

“If you won’t even tell me your name, I won’t accept anything from you.” Yuri grabs at his hair with both hands, ties it up in a quick ponytail at the base of his neck. He turns back towards the Dark Horse, a sickeningly sweet smile on his lips. “So, no, badboy. I won’t drink it.”

The Dark Horse is startled into a chuckle and Yuri almost lets his fake smile turn into a genuine one at the sound. He quickly scolds his face into a disinterested expression.

“Fair enough.” There’s still a residue of that chuckle in the Dark Horse’s voice and Yuri’s heart thumps against his ribcage.

“Be sure to have your name ready for next time.” Yuri gives the Dark Horse’s shoulder a quick pat, then walks himself out of that situation as fast as he can before he actually breaks the weird character he slipped into halfway through. It slipped a bit at the end, when he let his voice actually sound a bit excited about the prospect of a _next time_ and he can’t let the Dark Horse know more than that.

Once he’s out of the bar and into a cab to the Ice Castle, he buries his hands in the pockets of his jacket and lets himself chuckle, giddy with excitement, his heart beating madly with the adrenaline. It’s the first time he’s ever entered this weird, dance around each other kind of flirting, but it’s something new and it excites him to see how it’s gonna turn out — and that without mentioning the way the Dark Horse’s eyes on him make him feel like electricity is running through his veins and amping everything up by ten.

 

*

 

Yuri ends up spending the next weekend over at Katsudon and Viktor’s place at their request.

After going over to KING for the last few weeks, he thinks maybe he should give the mysterious DJ some time before seeing him again after their impromptu meeting. He was, for some dumb reason, still following Katsudon’s advice and playing their little game of push and pull.

It’s the evening of Saturday and Yuri’s helping Katsudon make Pirozhki with the recipe his grandpa had come up with. Yuri is confident enough in Katsudon’s cooking skills, seeing as someone had to cook the meals in this house and Viktor’s cooking prowess is a baffling minus ten, but this is _pirozhki_ and it’s Nikolai’s recipe; he isn’t just gonna hand it over to Katsudon, no matter how good of a cook he is.

So they bicker and elbow each other when trying to move in the cramped kitchen and Yuri’s hair even gets ruffled one time without a single complaint from him. Viktor watches them from the dinner table — Yuri catches him smiling like a lovestruck idiot once at him and Katsudon fighting over who should pour the flour and consequently spilling it all over the counter. Yuri gulps and tries to ignore the pull on his heartstrings.

It’s weird, this little family he found himself away from home. Not for the first time, he feels like he’s intruding and he shouldn’t belong here but both Viktor and Yuuri have always looked after him and made sure he felt included. They’ve made him part of their home and made him feel welcomed in a way he hasn’t felt with anyone but his grandpa. It’s so easy and they fit into each other’s lives so seamlessly he wonders if this is how it feels to grow up with loving parents and a warm family.

Yuri manages to avoid the uncomfortable feeling all evening and throughout the meal, where they make small talk and ask Yuri how are college and work going. The lights in Yuuri and Viktor’s apartment aren’t as bright as the ones in his grandpa’s home, but they give off this cozy, homey vibe. There’s a bottle of wine open in the middle of the table and the conversation flows around them easily, even though if they just let Viktor take the rails nobody would even have to talk with everything the old man seems to have to say. But Yuri still feels at home and _safe_ , Katsudon’s ever-persistent worry and Viktor’s blabbering a constant reminder that these people are a presence in his life and have chosen to willingly spend time with him, and he finds himself smiling more easily and freely that he has done in years.

When they’ve all finished eating but Yuri, though, the fear of intruding comes back. He’s sitting at the table, finishing off his last pirozhki, and Viktor’s sitting across from him, lovingly looking at Katsudon’s back in the kitchen while the latter cleans up and puts the leftovers in tupperwares in the fridge — Makkachin is sitting in the kitchen, watching Katsudon pace, his tail thumping against the floor quietly and Katsudon absentmindedly pets him every so often, making Makkachin’s tail thump more rapidly. There’s a certain kind of affection in Viktor’s eyes that makes the moment feel so _intimate_ that Yuri has to force himself to swallow around the newly formed knot in his throat. It’s not that Yuri’s unaccustomed to the gross public displays of affection of the couple because God knows he’s sadly gotten used to them, but this is different somehow, like no one but them should exist in this moment that’s so obviously only for them.

After all, this is Viktor’s first weekend off in months and maybe he really shouldn’t have come. Maybe he should’ve let them enjoy their time together. He would never admit it outloud, but he truly does want Viktor and Yuuri to be happy and live the disgustingly domestic married life they deserve. And what if he’s destroying what could’ve been a wonderful evening just by being in their house?

“So, Yurio.” Viktor’s voice interrupts his train of thought and when Yuri looks back at Viktor, the old man is looking at him with a mischievous look in his eye. He starts chewing the pirozhki more slowly, suspicious. “How are things going with your DJ boyfriend?”

The smile Viktor gives him is way too bright and Yuri congratulates himself for the fact that he didn’t spit out the food the moment he saw it. He tries to groan, but has to swallow the mouthful first before he can manage any kind of sound.

_Of course_ Viktor would have an ulterior motive on having him spend the night at his house. He’s already regretting even thinking he was bothering them or stealing their time. He had been tricked since the beginning.

“First of all, old man,” Yuri says after he successfully swallows the food and he wipes at his mouth with a hand to get rid of any crumbs. Viktor makes an appalled sound at the way Yuri refers to him, but Yuri barrels on. “I do _not_ have a boyfriend. And if I did, this is exactly the kind of shit that would make me not tell you. Second, there is nothing going on between that DJ and me. _You_ should be the one working on making connections with them so you can bring them over to the Ice Castle.”

Yuri takes a final bite off of his pirozhki, signaling the end of this conversation and hopefully conveying just how _done_ he is with Viktor. Who is, now, slumped over his chair, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks like a three-year-old child who didn’t get to play with his favorite toy and it’s kind of really funny. Yuri just barely manages to hold back a condescending laugh.

“But you’ve been going over to that club every Saturday night now. You haven’t even swung by the Ice Castle in weeks.” Viktor is now looking to his side, the childish pout all but gone from his expression and Yuri thinks he can see a glimpse of actual hurt in the way his features tense and his mouth forms a tight line, like he’s holding himself back from saying something.

The knot on his throat makes its triumphant return. He can’t even deny what Viktor’s saying because he knows he’s been spending a lot less time around his friends at the Ice Castle, only to change it for another club, which probably looks _really_ bad now that he thinks about it. Yuri looks down at his hands over the table, watches them open and close spasmodically.

Yuri doesn’t know how to reassure people. He can barely even process his own emotions most days, let alone someone else’s. He doesn’t have the words nor the gestures to let people know he actually _cares_ about them even if he tries really hard some days. It’s a never-ending battle, one that he has fought and fought but has never truly won.

The guilt starts to pool heavy on his stomach, but a warm hand splayed over his shoulder pulls him out of it. Katsudon is smiling down at him with the most understanding and supportive look in his eyes and Yuri almost feels like crying. Katsudon’s eyes speak volumes. _I know how you’re feeling and you don’t have to worry. Viktor is just an idiot. An idiot who misses you_ , they say.

“Yurio can do whatever he wants, Viktor.” Katsudon walks back to Viktor’s side of the table and smacks him on the head, of which Viktor complains very dramatically. “Let him have fun, he’s only 19. Do I need to remind you of the stories you told me about you and Chris when you were 19?”

“But Yuu-uuri...” Viktor drags the u in Katsudon’s name as he wails, grabbing his husband by the waist and burying his head in Katsudon’s stomach.

Katsudon’s expression immediately changes from angry mom to idiot in love and Yuri rolls his eyes as he watches him play with Viktor’s hair. He suppresses the almost involuntary noise of disgust that has become customary by now because they’re in their house and they should be allowed to be as sappy and as in love as they want to. He still sighs annoyedly, though, and leans his head on his hand, his elbow on the table.

Yuri doesn’t know how most families are but, as he watches Viktor complain and Katsudon laugh adoringly at his husband, Makkachin circling around them both with a puzzled but content expression on his face, he thinks he caught himself a good one.

All three of them see Yuri off at the door a couple hours later. He pets Makkachin, hugs Viktor and Katsudon, and leaves with the promise of coming back.

Even though it’s a saturday, the streets aren’t as busy due to the hour — it’s too early to go clubbing just yet and, besides, he doesn’t really feel up to it today. Still, as he dozes while listening to music and walking aimlessly, Yuri’s feet somehow take him to KING’s front entrance. He comes back to himself with a startle, unsure as to why he’s here. Muscle memory, he supposes.

It’s a weird sight, the dark building seemingly missing something without all of its neon lights turned on and no line of people desperately trying to get inside. Yuri allows himself a couple seconds to admire it, and then decides he’s bored of it already. The music blaring through his earphones comes to a still for a moment as the song shuffles into a different one.

“Um.”

Yuri turns on his heels, hands in the pockets of his hoodie and eyebrows raised in question, taking one earphone off. For some divine coincidence this person had spoken barely audibly in the moment Yuri’s music wasn’t drilling his eardrums, otherwise he would’ve never heard them. Said person was now standing before him, one hand on the front pocket of their jeans and the other extended out reaching out to him. They’re taller and broader than him and there’s something familiar about the way they’re carrying themselves that makes Yuri squint his eyes, trying to find whatever that is.

They take off the motorcycle helmet and Yuri’s eyes go wide.

“Otabek,” they say in a monotone voice, but Yuri swears he can hear the faintest hint of trembling in it. “My name is Otabek. You told me to have it ready next time we met.”

Yuri smirks, elated. He didn’t think they would meet again so soon, nor did he think it could be outside of club hours. And he now finally has a name and a face to place into the shadowy figure he thought of as the mysterious DJ of KING.

“Well, what have we here. Mister Dark Horse, I suppose?” Yuri asks, an eyebrow raised in question.

A smile threatens to tug at the corners of Otabek’s mouth. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Otabek seems to finally notice his still-outstretched hand and blushes a light pink, retreating it back to his side. But Yuri catches the movement and snatches the hand in one of his own before Otabek can fully retract it. That surprises Otabek, who looks up at Yuri, the light pink blush still tinting the high of his cheeks and Yuri catches himself just in time before he blurts out something utterly embarrassing like _you’re so cute_.

“My name is Yuri,” he says instead.

This time, Otabek’s mouth _does_ curl into a tiny smile and Yuri can’t resist returning it.

It’s hours later, as he lays wide awake in his bed, that he still finds himself smiling. Every couple of minutes he can’t help but look at the contact list on his phone to check that a new contact under the name “Otabek” — followed by two emojis of a pair of headphones and a horse — is actually there.

It had been pretty surreal the moment Otabek had asked for his phone number. Yuri had had to do a double take. The contact list on his phone was only composed of his grandfather, Viktor and Katsudon; only because the last two had forcibly inputted their numbers onto his phone themselves, and they texted him often enough that it’d be a hassle to delete them and get random texts from numbers he didn’t recognize.

So Yuri’s contact list now holds four different numbers: his grandpa’s, Viktor’s, Katsudon’s and Otabek’s. It makes something swirl inside him that he can’t quite name but it’s warm and runs through his veins like the adrenaline after a good dance and he can’t say he hates it.

In fact, as Yuri stares at Otabek’s name on his phone one final time, he realizes he _really_ doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t hate it to the point that it puts a smile on his face that he has to try and hide by pushing his face into the pillow — not that he has anyone to hide it from, as he’s alone in his room, but he has _integrity_ , alright? Yuri Plisetsky is not the same kind of fool as Viktor Nikiforov and he most certainly doesn’t smile idiotically at just the mere thought of someone. He is, actually, no fool at all. For no one.

_But_ , a small voice in his head counterattacks, _if this what being Viktor Nikiforov is like, it might not be so bad._

Yuri very decidedly ignores it as he lets himself be lulled into sleep.

 

*

 

They text throughout the week and Yuri finds out Otabek is not a good texter at all.

Otabek writes like his grandpa, with proper grammar and sentence composition, and it cracks Yuri up. When he has the time for it, Yuri watches their conversation as he’s waiting for a response from Otabek and watches him write, then erase, then write again for as many as ten times before he actually sends anything. Yuri doesn’t know if it’s from him not knowing how to reply to Yuri’s latest text or if he’s just taking real careful baby steps into their friendship, but it’s funny as hell and pretty adorable.

He catches himself looking forward to Otabek’s replies, checking his phone more often than before, trying to convince himself he’s _not_ eagerly awaiting for a text but just checking the time for the seventh time in about two minutes.

Phichit is, surprisingly, the one who calls him out on it.

It’s the early afternoon of the friday and Yuri’s taking care of the shelves of the convenience store, arranging the products and checking his phone every so often, replying to Otabek’s texts about meeting up at a café later that day. Phichit is sitting at one of the two little tables inside the store, slurping loudly on his slushie and most probably scrolling through his social media or taking selfies.

They all come to this specific store because they know Yuri works here and, while he appreciates the company sometimes, it’s just annoying more often than not. Phichit is, thank God, one of the less annoying people as he keeps to himself most of the time and doesn’t try to small talk Yuri as he works — very much unlike Chris who is always all up in Yuri’s space prattling on about his newest boyfriend, his latest pole dancing class or how the Ice Castle is going.

The store is deserted at this time of day, the manager having disappeared into the backroom almost two hours ago and only very few students coming in every so often. Yuri is calmly arranging the shelves, focused on the task, so he doesn’t hear Phichit stand up from the table until the guy’s just a few steps away from him, looking down at his crouched form from the start of the small aisle.

“Who you texting, Yurio?” Phichit asks, then slurps on his almost finished slushie, which creates a horrible and loud sound. “You keep looking at your phone.”

Yuri glares with all the intimidation he can muster, which is probably not that much seeing as he’s looking up at Phichit from the floor. Not for the first time, and most probably not the last either, he wishes he could somehow go back in time just after Viktor met Katsudon and prevent that fucking nickname from ever being willed into existence by Katsudon’s sister and then used by Viktor. He swears everytime someone uses it, Yuri’s lifespan decreases by at least a year. “Killed by everyone who ever called him Yurio. You all suck,” his grave will say and Viktor will wail because he’s the one who used the awful nickname the most, that fucker.

After the initial rage from the mention of the nickname has passed, Yuri processes the rest of Phichit’s question and tries very hard not to blush or react in any visible way. He instead breaks eye contact and turns back to the task at hand.

“I’m not texting anyone,” he lies through his teeth. His phone vibrates in his back pocket and he has to almost inhumanly stop himself from reaching for it.

“Suuure,” Phichit drags the “u” in a very condescending tone and Yuri doesn’t even have to look to know the expression he’s wearing nor the fact that he’s smiling very Chesire cat-like. Because Phichit is a very smart and cruel person and probably one the most gossipy people Yuri knows, just behind Viktor and Chris. He slurps again, which is totally unnecessary seeing as the noise it creates lets Yuri know very clearly that the slushie is completely gone.

“Didn’t you family ever teach you manners?” Yuri snaps, looking back at Phichit with fire in his eyes.

Work is literally the only time he has for himself, where he knows there’ll be no one to pester him except the customers, and instead has to stand the horrible sounds coming from the empty cup that Phichit is still for some fucking reason slurping on and the teasing, as if he didn’t get enough from Mila every time he visits the Ice Castle.

Yuri takes one, two deep breaths and has to actually concentrate not to crush the boxes of cereal in his hands, which would actually cut into his paycheck and he most definitely does not want that. Still, Phichit is really testing the limits of his patience.

“I got it, I got it.” Phichit raises his hands in defeat and then walks over to the table he was sitting at before, placing the empty cup on top of it, as if the trash bin wasn’t two steps away and he could’ve just thrown it there. Yuri rolls his eyes, but at least it’s something. “Viktor keeps whining about you not going to the Ice Castle anymore. You dropping by tomorrow?”

Phichit’s head is poking out of the end of the aisle, his big brown eyes shining with something Yuri has learnt to associate with _not good_ when it comes to Phichit. Yuri frowns.

“Tell the old man I can do what I want,” he grunts, putting down the cereal box on the shelf with more force than needed.

“Mm-hm.” Phichit nods with a pleased look to his face, smiling down at his phone. “We’ll see you there, then!”

Yuri’s head turns back to Phichit’s retreating form faster than he thought possible, raising his voice to be heard by the boy. “I didn’t say that, asshole!”

The only response is Phichit’s waving hand and the sound of the bell above the door signaling his exit. Yuri curses under his breath about the lack of manners of seemingly everyone around him and how they all need to get their fucking ears checked because they never fucking listen to anything he has to say. It carries on for a couple of minutes of him aggressively placing boxes on the shelf and complaining until he realizes he never replied to Otabek’s text.

Yuri fishes his phone out of his pants quickly, confirming he does have a text from Otabek by the notification on his lockscreen, and opens it up to a simple confirmation to meet up at whatever coffee shop he wants. Yuri smiles, even though Otabek obviously can’t see it, and sends him the address of his favorite coffee shop and a tentative time.

There’s little sparks of electricity zapping around in his belly and he panics for a second, thinking he might be coming down with some sort of stomach ache just before his date with Otabek.

And it’s then that he realizes he’s actually thinking of this as a _date_ and the electricity might just be his weird, fucked up form of butterflies and oh boy. This is why Mila was teasing him. This is why Phichit was smiling so smugly. This is why he couldn’t give up on getting the attention of the Dark Horse.

He has a crush.

Yuri Plisetsky has a motherfucking _crush_.

He is suddenly so grateful for already being crouched down on the floor because otherwise he would’ve fallen down with the weight of the realization, and the fact that he’s as lost as can be because nothing had prepared him for this moment.

And it’s weird and scary and foreign, but at the same time Yuri finds himself smiling, because it’s also really, really exciting.

 

*

 

This — this date he’s gonna have with Otabek is just one more of the tests he’s making the DJ go through, the first one being the whole issue with his name. So now Yuri is ready to let Otabek look at a little bit more of him and decide whether or not he’s still in for… whatever this is.

So Yuri heaves out a big sigh that trembles just the tiniest bit on its way out and leaves without a second look in the mirror. He’s not ashamed of who he is and he sure as hell isn’t gonna maintain conversation for longer than a minute with anyone that is ashamed of it — but he still can’t help but be nervous. Otabek’s one of the first people he’s met on his own, not through Viktor or Yuuri or anyone else. He’s the first friend Yuri’s made on his own and so far he’s been great and Yuri doesn’t want to lose him.

He walks to the designated coffee shop, combat boots-clad feet stomping against the ground in what he hopes passes for confidence. The earphones in his ears are blasting My Chemical Romance directly to his head and the air is breezing through his knee-high socks covered legs. It’s a cool, breezy evening and for once the weather seems book-perfect.

Yuri tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. He recognizes Otabek as soon as he’s within looking distance of the café, a figure resting against the brick wall with a heavy-looking leather jacket resting atop his shoulders and a familiar motorcycle helmet hanging from one of his hands. There’s this air of mystery around him, this bad boy aura that Otabek seems to emanate without even thinking about it, but Yuri knows he’s also incredibly dense and aloof, as demonstrated by the fact that he doesn’t seem to notice everyone walking past him and checking him out, some even having hushed conversations with their companions. Yuri suppresses a laugh, biting down on his bottom lip, but a small smile still makes its way to his mouth.

Otabek’s looking down at his phone when Yuri reaches him and plants himself in front of the DJ.

“You waiting for anyone, bad boy?” Yuri asks, and it’s _so_ hard not to laugh. He crosses his arms in front of himself, smirks, and watches as Otabek’s eyes make their way up through his body.

At first, it seems like Otabek’s recognized his voice and is gonna reply to him, but then his eyes land on the hem of Yuri’s skirt and he has to do a double take. Yuri’s skin begins to prickle with anxiety again at that, but he stifles it angrily. No use getting nervous now. Otabek’s eyes quickly snap up, confirming that it is indeed Yuri, whose smile wavers a bit and crossed arms tighten. A small, unsure smile appears in Otabek’s face at the sight of Yuri, but he remains tight-lipped, seems to think something over.

“Yeah. They just arrived, and they look really cute.” Otabek says and the uneasiness completely disappears from his smile. There’s even a faint blush tainting his cheeks pink and his eyes keep slipping in the direction of Yuri’s skirt.

All of the tension leaves Yuri’s body and with it relieved laughter bubbles out. He knew he shouldn’t have doubted Otabek. He finally unfurls his crossed arms and grabs the chain of his over-the-shoulder small bag, a relieved smile still stretching his lips.

“You can still call me ‘he’” Yuri feels a warmth spread across his cheeks and he just hopes the blush isn’t glaringly obvious. “Though, ‘they’ is alright too.”

“Well.” Otabek shifts from one foot to the other. “Which one do you prefer?”

The question stumps Yuri, because nobody had asked him before which pronouns he preferred when he dressed more femininely and, though he knew he could ask for any other pronouns to be referred with and everyone he knew would adapt to it, he just… never found it to be an issue. “He” had never felt wrong and it still didn’t, but he also never tried out other pronouns.

“I think…” Yuri trails off, chewing on his bottom lip. Otabek is still standing in front of him, waiting with the most patient expression Yuri’s seen anyone wear. “I think I wanna try out ‘they’ for now.”

“They it is,” Otabek says, and there’s this gentle and accepting look in his eyes that gets Yuri’s knees weak. He extends a hand, tentative, and gently places it on Yuri’s shoulders when they don’t recoil back. He squeezes once, then lets go, leaving Yuri to feel the small aftershocks of the electricity that Otabek always seems to instill in them.

Otabek looks over his shoulder quickly, then turns back to Yuri, motions with his head towards the entrance of the café. He extends his hand in front of him, also motioning with it. His small smile is enchanting. “Let’s go in?”

Yuri almost instinctively lets go of the strap of their bag they had been clutching only to reflexively hold onto Otabek’s hand. Too late they realize that was not Otabek’s intention and, because they are stubborn as hell and have too much pride, they don’t pull it back; not even when Otabek’s eyebrows shoot up a little bit in a clear sign of surprise. Instead, Yuri tries to fight the blush creeping its way up to their face with little success and gulps, trying to play it cool and probably failing miserably, though Otabek is much too nice to tell them that.

“Yeah. Let’s go in.” Yuri’s smile is a little bit unsure, because they don’t know if they’ve crossed some boundary they didn’t know about.

But then Otabek’s eyebrows lower back to their normal position, a blush of his own softly grazing his skin, and he squeezes Yuri’s hand on his own once, like he’s letting them know _it’s okay. I don’t mind._ And isn’t it weird that Yuri feels relieved because they’re starting to like the way Otabek’s hand feels on their own, heavy and rough and so very present, and its warmth grounds Yuri in ways they didn’t know were possible.

Slowly and hesitantly, testing the waters and gauging Otabek’s reaction before fully doing it, Yuri starts to interlace their fingers. Otabek’s smile grows when he realizes what they’re doing and it looks so out of place in the normally taciturn face, which just makes it all the more breathtaking — Yuri gets the feeling very few people get to see Otabek smile like this, and that alone knocks the wind out of them. Otabek’s fingers start to graze against theirs, Yuri suddenly hyperaware of their left hand and the static-y feeling Otabek’s touch leaves behind like a ghost of his presence. Like Yuri could ever forget.

Yuri exhales and lets a shaky smile stretch their lips. Otabek looks at them with the brightest eyes Yuri’s ever looked into — and they’re not a sappy idiot like both Viktor and Katsudon but… they’re sure not even the brightest star could rival the way Otabek’s eyes are shining right now.

Otabek nods towards the coffee shop again, this time remaining tight-lipped, and starts walking towards it, tugging Yuri along by their still joined hands. The warmth across Yuri’s cheeks gets even warmer, as if it’s possible for them to blush more noticeably, but there’s an exhilarated smile in their face as they let themselves be pulled towards the entrance to the coffee shop. Otabek opens the door for them and Yuri thanks him with a smile. There’s a teasing spark in his eyes, though, so when Yuri notices they gasp and in retaliation for it, they pull hard on their joined hands and Otabek comes stumbling into the café, clearly not expecting it.

The laughter bubbles up from their belly out through their mouth and there is no way they’re stopping it. Instead, Yuri just lets it rip through them, laughing like a child again after too many years. And Otabek follows in their footsteps, laughing just as heartily albeit a bit more silently. Yuri can’t even find it in themselves to care that they’re probably making a scene, disrupting these people’s days with their loud noises, but they’re _happy_ and Otabek’s laughing and it’s only been a few minutes but it’s already the best time they’ve had in years.

After the laughter subdues, Yuri pulls on their joined hands once more, tugging Otabek towards the cash register. “C’mon. We gotta order first.”

Otabek just nods, following Yuri obediently. They stand in line for a few seconds. Yuri plays with their skirt with their free hand, biting down on their bottom lip and avoiding eye contact. It’s _so_ late for them to feel even remotely embarrassed by it, but it’s suddenly dawning on them that they’re _holding hands_ like a couple. Sure, platonic hand-holding is totally a thing, but at least from Yuri’s side it’s not platonic, like, at all. They can’t speak for Otabek but given the reactions he’s had to them and their actions, they’re pretty sure it’s not platonic on his side either.

“Next, please!” Comes a familiar voice, which sounds completely _delighted_ , and Yuri feels all the color drain from their face.

How the _fuck_ did they forget Phichit worked at this fucking coffee shop?

“Yurio!” Phichit says, trying to sound surprised even though Yuri’s sure he’s been watching them from the moment they stepped into the coffee shop. His eyes are sparkling and it’s not a good kind of sparkling. It smells like trouble, like almost everything involving Phichit always smells. “What brings you here? And who is this?”

Phichit sounds way too excited, the Cheshire-like smile back on his face, and Yuri watches his eyes as they scan over them, then Otabek, and finally come to a stop in between them. Yuri can practically see the gears working inside Phichit’s head as he belatedly realizes exactly what Phichit’s staring at. They quickly snatch their hand out from Otabek’s grasp without even stopping to think about it.

The first thing they notice is how empty and cold their hand feels without Otabek’s in it. What overpowers that feeling, though, is Otabek’s reaction, who flinches a bit at the sudden loss of contact but quickly scolds his face into a neutral expression. But even through their peripheral vision Yuri swears there was a flash of hurt in his features and feels a sharp pang of guilt in their chest.

Phichit, on his part, seems to read the atmosphere and has the decency to look a little bit sheepish and sorry. Yuri meets his eyes, fire burning inside theirs, and fists both hands into the fabric of their skirt. They hope Phichit can see just how _angry_ they are if only by using their stare and angry, disapproving eyebrows. It seems to work, because Phichit hunches in on himself just a bit. Not like Yuri was expecting much else, seeing as it _is_ Phichit and has basically no decency nor chill whatsoever.

“Are you gonna do your work and take our order or just stand there watching like we’re some freakshow?” Yuri asks, a little bit of venom slipping into the question without their consent, crosses their arms in front of themselves. They’re still refusing to look over at Otabek.

“Pfft.” Phichit rolls his eyes, looking back down to the computer in front of him. “Be a little less aggressive, at least while you’re looking so cute.”

Phichit winks at them, then his eyes stray towards Otabek. Yuri can see the question in his eyes, the need to ask and know about fucking _everything_ and Yuri’s burning holes into the side of Phichit’s head, daring him to ask again. Phichit seems to sense Yuri’s hostility because, probably for the first time in his life, he purses his mouth and keeps quiet. Yuri can’t help the satisfactory smirk.

The smirk is short-lived, though; it disappears as the awkwardness of the air around them and Otabek begins to seep into their skin again. They start to become fidgety, and with a start they realize their hand is trying to creep back into Otabek’s, Yuri’s pinky outstretched as if looking desperately for the warmth. They clench their hands around the strap of their bag, clenching hard around the metal chain, the hardness and cold of the metal oddly comforting.

“The same as always, Yurio?” Phichit asks.

“Sure,” Yuri grunts back.

Phichit snorts a little. Yuri glares at him. Phichit gives them back his very own, probably trademarked, Phichit Chulanot’s Smile that’s not the least bit apologetic nor ashamed. The bastard.

“And what it’ll be for you, sir?” Phichit turns to Otabek and asks with a smile, this time a much more friendly and radiant one. He probably learnt it at How To Serve Customers 101.

“Uh.” Yuri notices a small uneasiness in Otabek’s monotone and it’s kind of creepy that they can already read Otabek so well after only spending a small amount of time around him. “One Americano, please.”

“Of course. Anything else?” Phichit asks, very politely again, and Yuri’s so amazed to actually see Phichit on his best behavior. Not that he was ever _rude_ at Yuri while working but he still wasn’t exactly polite, always somehow finding one way or another to tease them.

Out of the corner of their eye, Yuri sees Otabek shake his head. Yuri is distracted with _not_ looking over at Otabek, still feeling that awkwardness in the air, so they don’t notice when Phichit asks for payment and Otabek hands him a couple of bills until it’s too late.

“Hey!” They frown at Otabek, completely forgetting they weren’t supposed to look at him. “Let me pay for my half, you don’t have to pay for everything.”

“It’s fine.” And one corner of Otabek’s mouth quirks up, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You can pay next time.”

Yuri’s sure even their ears are blushed red. They grunt something under their breath, barely an affirmation that not even them can truly discern. Otabek lets out a soft chuckle and Yuri can’t help but return a small smile at him, the blush still heating up almost half of their face.

There is a camera sound and a wolf whistle. Yuri is suddenly reminded that they’re not alone, are actually in public and, what’s worse, Phichit is right in front of them. Phichit, who is quickly shoving his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. Yuri sees red.

“You little shit!” Yuri yells, at a volume totally not appropriate for a mildly busy coffee shop on a friday evening.

Phichit lets out a high-pitched, squeaky laugh. “Your order will be done in a minute!”

And he scurries back into the kitchen area where Yuri can’t follow, like the coward he is. Not like they aren’t gonna try, though. They’re not gonna rest until that picture is deleted from _existence_. So Yuri leans over the counter, carefully calculating if it’d be possible for them to jump over it and how much trouble they’d get in for barging into the employees-only section — which, truly, doesn’t fucking matter as long as they get the picture deleted.

“Get back here, you bastard!” They yell loud enough for Phichit to hear them and start hoisting themselves up over the counter.

A hand in the small of Yuri’s back stops them right before they jump over and they have to turn back. The string of profanities they were about to yell at whoever was trying to stop them dies in their throat as soon as they see Otabek with a vibrant red blush on his cheeks, looking anywhere but at Yuri’s back.

“Your, um -” Otabek gulps audibly and his eyes flicker to Yuri for a second before looking down and keeping quiet for a few beats. So now Yuri is angry _and_ confused, which isn’t a good combination. After Otabek seems to gather his resolve, he speaks again. “Your skirt is riding up.”

It actually takes them a minute to process it, the confusion growing bigger before the realization dawns on them. Yuri scrambles off the counter as fast and as gracefully as they can, this time taking real care of where the hem of their skirt is. They had actually forgotten for a moment that skirts, unlike shorts, would ride up and show off their underwear. Though, truth be told, they wouldn’t have cared either way in the heat of the moment, but now their head was clearer and the initial anger had subsided to a level where it was manageable. It still didn’t mean they weren’t gonna make Phichit pay next time they saw him.

Someone comes out of the staff room and Yuri is ready to jump over the counter for real this time, skirt and underwear be damned, but they have to stop the moment they realize it isn’t Phichit — which, in retrospect, they should’ve expected. They huff out in annoyance and start walking to the tables area, what dignity they still have held high.

Some of the people sitting down give them a look as they pass, probably because of the little spectacle Yuri had just been the protagonist of, but they pay the curious eyes no mind, especially when they notice their favorite spot is free. Yuri all but runs to the loveseat on the very back of the coffee shop, letting themself plop down on the comfy, soft couch. It does wonders to help ease their residual anger.

The couch dips next to them as Otabek sits. Their combined weight on the rickety couch pulls them closer together and suddenly Yuri is much too aware of their left side, where the heat from Otabek’s arm seems to emanate even through the thick sleeve of his jacket, creating goosebumps on Yuri’s bare arm. The silence stretches on for a few seconds.

“Yurio?”

Yuri’s head snaps so fast it gives them whiplash. After the slight discomfort on their neck passes, they examine Otabek’s expression and realize he’s teasing them, which was kinda hard to tell from his voice. They groan and let themself fall back against the couch, their hands covering their face.

“You better not use that fucking nickname too. I swear to God I’ll block your number.” Yuri’s voice is probably a little muffled from coming behind their hands, but they hope the message comes across pretty clearly. Judging from the chuckle Otabek lets out, it probably did.

“Alright, I won’t use it if you don’t like it,” Otabek says, still a little bit teasing but sincere. Yuri can tell.

“You bet your ass I don’t like it,” Yuri replies, finally taking their hands off their face and letting them down with a sigh.

Which wasn’t the best course of action, as their hand lands partly on top of Otabek’s on the couch and now their pinkies are kinda interlocked. Their first instinct is to move their hand as fast as humanly possible, but after a beat of thinking it, Yuri realizes they _really_ don’t wanna move their hand. They don’t know if this is okay either, though, so they risk a glance at Otabek.

Otabek is quiet next to him, seemingly examining the very interesting coffee table, but he doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable with the current situation. Yuri has noticed that, unlike them that won’t hesitate to voice their discomfort and complain loudly so everyone involved knows they are, indeed, uncomfortable, Otabek talks in silence and body language. They haven’t met face to face for a long time, so Yuri still has trouble understanding some of the cues Otabek throws their way, but they’re slowly getting there.

So, without taking their eyes off Otabek, Yuri moves their pinkie back and forth over Otabek’s, trying to meet him in the middle and tell him they aren’t against hand-holding again. Otabek tenses at first, but it quickly dissipates from his body. And, because Yuri hasn’t taken their eyes off him, they get to see a blush blossom on Otabek’s cheeks, the only other indicator that what Yuri is doing is affecting him.

Yuri feels the words on their throat about to be let out. They’re gonna say something sappy and terribly stupid but they can’t help it and —

“Latte with double expresso?”

The voice startles Yuri out of whatever they were gonna say. There’s a waiter at the end of the table, carrying a tray with their order, probably waiting for either of them to answer the question.

“Yeah, that’s mine,” Yuri replies and the waiter places the mug in front of them. Yuri doesn’t pull their hand back.

“And an Americano?”

Otabek merely nods in response. The waiter places another mug in front of him and, finally, a slice of chocolate cake in the middle of them with two forks. The waiter excuses themself and leaves. They stay like that for a moment, until Yuri reluctantly pulls their hand back from on top of Otabek’s to hold the mug in both hands. It seems to break the spell, because Otabek also moves forward to start stirring sugar into his coffee.

The first sip of coffee is heavenly. It’s just the right amount of hot, the perfect mix of espresso and milk, and the best kind of bitter. The warmth spreads throughout Yuri’s body and it relaxes every muscle in its trail, leaving behind a sigh of relief. After the two run-ins with Phichit today, and the consequent stress he put them under, Yuri is really grateful for the coffee.

After another couple of sips and a few more seconds of bliss, Yuri finally turns to the slice of cake. They take two small bites after the other, the chocolate a wonderful sweet contrast to the bitterness of the unsweetened coffee.

“You always order a slice of cake?” Otabek asks. Yuri prompts him to explain himself with the raise of an eyebrow. “The cashier just asked if you wanted the usual.”

“You don’t know how often or little I come here,” Yuri mumbles, unable to negate the question and basically being caught in the act. They angrily take another bite off the cake.

Otabek lets out an amused sort-of snort. “I’m just saying, maybe you shouldn’t eat so much cake.”

“Geez, _Mom_ , calm down. I get it.” Yuri rolls their eyes. They sneak a glance at Otabek and are pleased to find him sorta-smiling.

At that, Otabek actually lets out a full-fledged laughter. Yuri can’t help but be proud of themself for achieving that. They mentally pat themselves on the back.

“I’m not trying to be your _mom_ , Yuri,” Otabek says in a disapproving tone, but he’s smiling so Yuri doesn’t buy it. “I just wanna make sure you know it’s not the healthiest thing to do.”

“Whatever.” Yuri rolls their eyes and grabs a bite-sized piece of cake on their fork. “If you don’t want me to eat it, then help me out.”

Yuri points the fork towards Otabek, offering the cake to him. Otabek does a double take, looking from the fork to Yuri twice, as if asking if this is truly okay. Yuri rolls their eyes again and just nudges the fork in Otabek’s direction with more urgency. Otabek’s lips close around the fork and — _oh_. That was probably why he was hesitating.

It didn’t dawn on them that this isn’t exactly _friends_ territory, that sharing food like this is more of a couples thing. And now Yuri is being way too forward without meaning too, _again_.They just hope Otabek isn’t put off by it because it isn’t even intentional.

“I guess I can understand why you’d eat this so much, now,” Otabek says with a thoughtful expression after chewing on the cake

“See!” Yuri points the fork towards Otabek accusingly. “So stop being a mom and eat it with me, asshole. I already have two dads too many.”

The last statement clearly gets Otabek’s attention, judging from his raised eyebrows, but he seems to choose not to comment on it. Instead, he turns his body towards Yuri, reclining against the arm of the loveseat. Yuri mirrors him, getting one of their legs up on the couch and letting the other dangling off, taking care that their skirt is covering all the necessary spots — they aren’t about to become an exhibitionist like Chris, thank you very much.

Time passes around them as they share the slice of cake and drink their coffees, sometimes in easy conversation and sometimes in comfortable silence. It’s like falling into step with someone who’s always been practicing the same dance routine as you but you’ve never talked to each other before. A weird, beautiful coincidence.

There’s easy laughter, teasing and honesty. It feels like a date but also not at all, what with all the couple-y stuff Yuri keeps unconsciously doing and with the ever-present feeling of having a coffee with their best friend — not that Yuri _knows_ how being with a best friend feels like, but they think this is what that is. That trust and secrecy that comes with knowing each other for years, being able to communicate with just a few gestures and expressions. Otabek doesn’t really know all that much about them, but Yuri thinks no one has understood them quite this well before. Probably nobody has ever cared enough to worry about understanding them like this.

The greatest thing? Is that Otabek doesn’t have any obligation to be this nice to Yuri. There is no familial nor acquaintance obligation, this is nothing like Viktor’s case (“I’ve known you for so many years and we studied dance together, we _have_ to get along”) or Yuuri’s (“You are my husband’s basically-adopted-son, I _have_ to at least stand you”). Otabek could literally stand up, spit in their face and walk away and there would be no repercussions. But he isn’t doing any of that and that’s what Yuri finds the most unbelievable thing of all that has happened.

In one of those lulls in their conversation, Yuri checks their phone and finds a couple of notifications. There are three from Instagram, one from Twitter and a new text from Viktor. Reluctantly, Yuri opens it. It’s rather short, by Viktor’s standards.

_Yurio!! don’t forget to come to the ice castle tomorrow or i’ll have yuuri literally go pick you up and drag your ass here (and you KNOW he can pick you up don’t forget The Incident) so you better come on your own!! :D_

Yuri shivers a little at the mention of Katsudon. Of course he could never forget. Viktor and them had gotten into an argument that either of them refused to back down from and they had gotten Katsudon so angry he had literally carried Yuri under one of his arms, sat them down on the couch, and then proceeded to carry Viktor to the bedroom like a sack of potatoes - all while he remained silent and had the angriest, most determined look Yuri had ever seen on someone’s eyes. Needless to say, Yuri had bolted out of the Katsuki-Nikiforov house as soon as the bedroom door closed. But they would never be able to forget the fact that, no matter how hard they fought, Katsudon just wouldn’t budge and the terrifying realization that they had, truly and utterly, fucked up this time.

Thank God, Viktor had been the one with the worst end of the stick, but Yuri never wanted to repeat that situation ever again.

But, because they’re still a little shit, Yuri only sends back the knife emoji three times without confirmation of whether they’re going or not. They look back over to Otabek, find him also browsing through his phone, and decide that if they’re supposed to stand the whole crew of people at the Ice Castle, they should _at least_ be allowed to bring someone else with them.

“Hey, Otabek?” Yuri calls out and Otabek turns his attention towards them. “You got anything to do tomorrow?”

The question seems to make Otabek perk up. “After my set at KING, no, I don’t have anything else planned.”

“Do you wanna swing by the Ice Castle after that? I’m supposed to go tomorrow and it’d be cool if you could come too. It’s, like, only a few blocks away from KING so I can send you the address and -” Yuri is already looking up the address on the club’s webpage, but Otabek surprisingly interrupts their babbling.

“I know where the Ice Castle is.” And Otabek isn’t looking at them again. Yuri narrows their eyes. “I’ve been there, once. Before.”

“Oh.” Yuri is still looking at Otabek’s expression because there’s something else here than what he’s letting on. “Did you like it? If you did, don’t tell Viktor or he’ll talk your ear off about the club.”

Otabek lets out a little chuckle at that. His eyes look lost somewhere far away and there’s a soft smile stretching his lips, like he’s remembering something dear to him.

“I did. I liked it very much. I actually -” He suddenly stops talking at looks over at Yuri once, with an air of nervousness around him. Before he continues, Otabek looks away again. “That visit was what inspired me to become a DJ.”

Yuri gets the feeling that that was most definitely not what Otabek was gonna say, but with a frowning of their eyebrows, they let it slide. They take one last sip off their second coffee cup and then set it down on the table with a final thud.

“Well, you should come over tomorrow. Swing by whenever you can.” Yuri leans back on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and flexing both arms behind their head. They shrug. “I can’t promise it’ll be fun, but I’ll be there so you’ll at least know one person.”

“That’s more than enough reason for me to go,” Otabek says, and then, as if to make sure Yuri isn’t misunderstanding him, he confirms, “I’ll be there.”

 

*

 

There’s not nearly enough time between their coffee date and when they meet up again at the Ice Castle, but Yuri’s gonna have to make it _work_ somehow.

Thankfully, they have at least a couple of hours just to hang out at the club before Otabek arrives. Yuri sits at the bar, chatting with Mila about basically everything, before Viktor and Chris pull them into the dancefloor with big grins on their faces. Yuri scowls as they drag them to the mass of bodies pressed together dancing away, but they don’t really mind that much. It’s been ages since they’ve spent time with their friends at the Ice Castle and even more since they’ve gone out with Viktor and Chris as they don’t really have time to go clubbing anymore.

It seems that they asked Katsudon for help in running the club for tonight, because Yuri catches a glimpse of him leaning against the door that leads to backstage, talking absentmindedly with Phichit next to him and looking lovingly in their general direction as they dance with a smile on his face. Yuri sticks their tongue out at him just to let the public know how _gross_ this is but they’re pretty sure Katsudon doesn’t notice.

Even though there really was nothing to worry about, Yuri feels themself loosen up as the minutes pass and Viktor and Chris flash them smiles on opposite sides of them, effectively sandwiching them in between the two older men. And Yuri knows they’re old, they’re always calling them “old man” just to get on both their nerves, but as all three of them dance together it doesn’t really feel that way. They both have this certain youthful energy to them in the way they smile and the way they move with such enthusiasm it actually rubs off on Yuri.

It feels like Yuri’s gone on a night out with friends and it’s been just the longest time since they felt that way, which just makes it all the more fun.

All three of them come tumbling out of the dancefloor sometime later — how long? Yuri can’t tell. They got lost in the changing colors of the lights and the suffocating push of bodies around them and it was _so_ good. They all try to catch their breath just outside the mass of bodies, leaning on their knees, and Yuri feels Viktor put an arm around their shoulders. A beat later, Chris does the same. And Yuri feels so euphoric, so much life _themself_ , that they smile at both Viktor and Chris and then shrug their arms off with a hand gesture.

Viktor and Chris look, as expected, appalled. They stand at the edge of the dancefloor for a couple of seconds but then Yuri starts jogging away towards the bar, only halfway through they turn around and pull on their eyelid with their middle finger, sticking their tongue out to both men still standing next to the dancefloor. They see Viktor and Chris shake out of their stupor and grin devilishly at the same time, after which they bolt to the bar as fast as possible.

Both men catch up to them, though, and Yuri feels two hands ruffling his hair as they catch themselves before slamming against the bar. They’re all laughing, warm and real and honest. It’s the most at home Yuri’s ever felt, even as Mila swats away at them with her cleaning cloth, clicking her tongue.

“What was that, Yurio? We were having a moment and then you ruined it!” Viktor says as he messes up their hair even further. Even as the music booms loudly in the club, Yuri can hear the pout in Viktor’s voice.

“A moment my ass, old man. I don’t remember anything like that.” Yuri slaps at both arms over their head, trying to get them off.

“You little asshole. We were having fun!” Chris says, lets his hand be slapped away after ruffling Yuri’s hair once more.

“Did you both have some shrooms or something? I swear you’re both hallucinating. I was _dragged_. Against my will.”

Yuri straightens out, the weight of two arms on their head finally gone, and starts gathering up their hair in a half ponytail. They go so far as tying it up before they realize Chris and Viktor have been suspiciously silent this whole time and are looking at each other almost guiltily. Yuri sucks in a breath, a huge grin on their face.

“What the fuck, I’m gonna go tell Katsudon. Oh my god. He’s gonna have both of your heads.” They let out a delighted cackle and try to run towards the backstage door, but two arms are already around them, efficiently pinning them in place.

Viktor has both hands in front of his face as if praying, his one visible eye _pleading_. “Yurio, please! It wasn’t shrooms, but you know how angry he gets.”

“That’s exactly why I’m gonna tell him, you idiot!” Yuri can’t stop laughing now. This is the best thing that could’ve happened to them.

Except right then Mila lets out a low whistle. “Oh, my God.”

And Yuri _has_ to look, because if Mila is interested there’s a good chance they could be too, except when they look in the direction she’s looking in, they find no one other than Otabek making his way to the bar. Before he gets there, though, he stops and does a double take at the scene before him.

“Oh. Yuri?” Otabek asks and Yuri goes beet red.

“Let go of me, asshole!” They say to Chris, who is still holding them still. Chris lets go immediately, causing Yuri to slightly lose their balance and tumble on their way to stand upright. They start turning towards Otabek, but someone’s back blocks their way.

“Are you the DJ boyfriend? It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Viktor! I’m Yurio’s dad! Well, not really but -” Viktor is talking _so_ fast is making Yuri’s head spin, and what he’s saying is just so wrong they have to stop him.

Yuri blanches — their head is kinda hurting now from all the rushing of blood in and out of it so fast — and slithers in the small space between Otabek and Viktor with ease. They’re sure their eyes are somewhat frightening in how panicked they are. They place one hand on top of Viktor’s mouth to shut him up.

“You’re not my fucking dad.” Yuri can feel the outraged gasp behind their hand. They take it off immediately, as if Viktor was made of acid. “Gross!”

“I’m the uncle, Chris!” Chris pipes up from behind them, waving a hand. Yuri glares at him.

“Shut the fuck up! You’re not my family!” Yuri growls, frustrated and angry.

“You break my heart, Yurio.” Viktor is looking at them disapprovingly, a hand over his chest.

“Like you have one,” Yuri snaps back.

Viktor turns to look at Chris with an unreadable expression on his face. Chris says, “Rebellious stage.”

Viktor nods. “Yup. Definitely.”

“Arrgh!” Yuri raises both hands to their hair before remembering they just tied it up and letting them down again. “Will you two just _go already_?”

Viktor rolls his eyes, like an understanding but exasperated mother. He gives one last smile to Otabek, waving a hand. “Hope you have fun!”

He starts walking away and Yuri finally turns towards Otabek with a sigh. They’re not really sure of what Otabek’s expression is gonna be when they look up, so they look down at the floor for a second.

A hand slaps their ass, causing them to yelp in surprise.

“Go get him, tiger!” Chris’ voice is unmistakable as he shouts from behind Yuri, already running away and laughing as he does so.

“You fucking —!” Yuri screams, red in the face from both anger and embarrassment. They start to go after him but a hand on their shoulder stops them.

“Are you sure they’re not your family?” Otabek says, in an amused kind of monotone — which only he could pull off. There’s a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth and Yuri suddenly realizes he saw that whole encounter, and all after how Viktor and Chris had behaved in front of him.

If there was any moment in Yuri Plisetsky’s life where they wanted the ground to just swallow them whole, it was this.

“Oh my god,” Yuri whispers, covering their face with both their hands, absentmindedly noticing how hot it is from the embarrassment. “I have to kill myself now. That’s the only solution.”

Otabek lets out an unsure chuckle, as if he’s not sure if he’s allowed to laugh or not. “Do you wanna go outside?”

“Yeah, whatever.” With a long sigh, Yuri lowers both hands to their sides. “At least outside there’s no Viktor.”

Yuri drags Otabek through the club towards the service exit. They tell themselves they’re only grabbing Otabek’s hand so they don’t get separated while navigating the mass of people standing around seemingly everywhere on the club, not for any other reason.

The service exit opens up to a dirty alleyway next to the Ice Castle. It’s dark, a few lamps barely illuminating the space between buildings and there’s a trash container on the end of the alley that smells like shit. Not at all perfect scenery to have a conversation, but it’s the farthest Yuri could get from the Ice Castle without actually leaving. Trying to get away from the stink, they walk towards the opposite end of the alley until Yuri breathes in and doesn’t feel like they’re gonna choke on how disgusting it feels.

Once they’re out of danger, Yuri sucks in a huge breath and looks back at Otabek, who has kept unnervingly quiet all this time. They arch an eyebrow at him. Otabek smirks — dangerous and hypnotic.

“You’re positive they’re not family?” Otabek asks, a teasing edge to his monotone, and Yuri groans. “I mean, a family’s job is to embarrass you and I’d say they did that just fine.”

“Holy shit, can we, like, _not_ talk about this?” Yuri takes both their hands to their hair in frustration this time, updo be damned. Their expression turns into a scowl. “I literally just got rid of them two seconds ago. Don’t remind me of Disaster #1 and Disaster #2”

Otabek actually _laughs_ , a full-fledged, roaring laugh that startles Yuri into a smile. And there’s this moment again where it’s so strange to see the expression his face wears when he laughs like that, the feeling that such expression does not belong in such a stoic face, which just makes it all the more amazing. Yuri catches themself thinking about how much more valuable it becomes to be able to watch Otabek laugh like that, how much of a honor it is that he lets himself be this vulnerable in front of them.

Something swells inside Yuri’s chest and they don’t know what it is, but it grows and grows as Otabek laughs, electrifies the blood inside their veins in the best possible way.

“Stop laughing already, asshole,” Yuri says, tugging on Otabek’s jacket sleeve, but there’s a half-smile in their face to show they don’t mean it. “You’re gonna choke on fucking air!”

Yuri tugs once more, playfully but more forcefully than before, and Otabek stumbles sideways, losing his balance. Yuri’s reflexes kick in and they grab Otabek’s other sleeve, pulling him towards themself so he doesn’t fall flat on his face. Except the movement brings them face to face, chests almost pressed together, breaths warming each other’s faces.

Yuri, ironically, chokes on fucking air.

It feels almost too easy, too perfect, as their faces inch closer together. Yuri’s eyes open like saucers, in contrast to Otabek’s which are closed, and they fist their hands on the jacket sleeves they’re still holding on to. The moment their lips touch, Yuri’s eyes finally flutter closed and their heart starts hammering against their ribcage.

The kiss is soft and hesitant, both a question and an invitation to back out of the contact if so Yuri wanted. Otabek is so _nice_ it wrecks Yuri and all they wanna do is pull on the lapels of that stupid bad-boy jacket Otabek insists on wearing all the time like they’ve seen done in movies. Yuri would pull and the kiss would get intense and they would lose themselves in each other but — they’re paralyzed. All they can do is stand there, their fists still holding onto Otabek’s sleeves, clumsily trying to kiss back.

Because this is uncharted territory. Yuri’s kissed and been kissed before, sure, but never like this. They had never felt this kind of intent behind a kiss before, never had felt such gentleness before, never — never had wanted this badly for a kiss to not end. And it’s dumb, because this isn’t even one the best kisses they’ve had, they’re stumbling and wandering like a newborn baby through it, but it’s the first one they’ve ever felt something other than lust from.

Otabek reaches up a hand to Yuri’s face gently, slowly lowering it until it makes contact with their face, and Yuri feels a zap that makes them draw back with a small gasp. What feels like static electricity emanating from Otabek’s hand raises goosebumps on Yuri’s cheek, where Otabek’s hand is now hovering, not really touching anymore. There’s a small dip in between his eyebrows, like he’s worried and unsure as to what to do, so Yuri reaches up with one of their hands, finally unfurling it from Otabek’s jacket. They cover Otabek’s hand with their own to keep it in place, turn their face towards it and place a small kiss on the palm.

Out of the corner of their eye, Yuri looks at Otabek, watches a blush spread across his cheeks. They can’t help the satisfied smirk.

“Are you — Is this okay?” Otabek asks, and it’s not the first time they’ve seen him hesitate, but it feels different somehow. More important, this time.

Yuri steels their eyes and answers with honesty. “Yes. Definitely okay.”

They tense the hand over Otabek’s, trying to convey with actions what they never can with words. _Now I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go._

Thankfully, Otabek seems to understand just what they mean, because his eyes soften and his shoulders seem to unstiffen a little. Yuri has just a few seconds to wonder at the fact that they’ve already created this language with their bodies that they both so easily understand before Otabek moves his hand from Yuri’s cheek to the back of their head, pulling them gently the few inches needed for their lips to touch again. This time, the gentleness lasts but a breath, that electricity Otabek somehow always manages to instill in Yuri rapidly running through their veins, making them shiver slightly in Otabek’s hands.

Yuri sneaks their hands under Otabek’s jacket, then just slightly under the hem of his shirt, feeling the muscle tense and then release on that small stripe of exposed sking between his jeans and shirt. They splay their hands, letting their fingertips feel the warm skin and taut muscle under it, rubbing their thumbs in slow circles on Otabek’s hips. Yuri presses on Otabek’s hips experimentally, and they’re very pleasantly surprised when it makes Otabek’s breath hitch and his hand on Yuri’s hair tighten.

Yuri’s whole body _sings_ , taut with exhilaration and electricity. They bite on Otabek’s bottom lip, pull him by the hips forcefully, only to rip out a guttural growl from Otabek. It resonates on their lips and they get drunk on it, want to hear it more, need to explore and know and — it’s very possible that Yuri’s addictive streak is showing up again. And it’s also very possible that Yuri was never addicted to Otabek’s DJ sets, was instead addicted to Otabek as a whole, to his lightning-bright energy and thunder-loud eyes.

Maybe Otabek is not only electricity, not only lightning, but a full-fledged storm. But with the way Yuri’s breath is now coming in quick little gasps, the way Otabek’s hands are making their head spin, the way their lips are starting to feel bruised and raw — they do not want to be saved from this storm. They wanna live in it, make a home out of its grounding heaviness.

Yuri has always been a flighty little thing, forever hopping from club to club and from fashion to fashion. Their tastes change with the trends and they like it, being able to reinvent themself, not being bound by anything. It might’ve been something unintentionally absorbed from watching Viktor grow up so erratically, forever changing, forever _challenging_ himself to change. But sometimes flighty little things also want to be bound, to be held down, if maybe subconsciously, and Yuri has watched Viktor find the person he wanted to be bound by, change into a brighter, truer version of himself.

There’s a possibility Yuri might want it too, because Otabek’s hands as they hold Yuri in place by their hair and their waist don’t feel like chains. They’re warm and heavy, the gentle force behind them making Yuri’s breath quicken, making them arch into their touch eagerly. And Otabek responds in kind, pulling Yuri closer to himself if possible, the press of his hands so real and demanding. Yuri is much more than willing to give.

So they give, separating their lips from Otabek’s and exposing their neck, a very obvious invitation. Otabek’s eyes flick to Yuri’s for a second, double-checking, and Yuri tries to scream: _yes, you idiot, yes_ , but all they do is nod. Otabek’s lips first move to their jaw, kissing gently along it until he reaches their ear, then moves downwards. The kisses are wet and leave a hot trail behind them, every point Otabek’s lips touch seemingly more sensitive than the rest of Yuri’s body.

When Otabek’s lips reach Yuri’s jugular, then suck gently on it, Yuri slaps a hand against their mouth. It’s a little too late, though, because a breathy moan escapes their lips and seems to be amplified ten times over in the empty alleyway, resounding all around them. Otabek stills, pausing mid kiss. Yuri turns red.

There’s a moment of silence, interrupted only by their breathings — Yuri’s a little bit quicker, Otabek’s calmer. Then, very slowly, Yuri can feel Otabek’s lips against their neck stretching into a smirk, his hand tighten on their waist. They manage a sigh of relief but it’s soon cut short by Otabek’s mouth now sucking on their neck more eagerly, letting go with a wet pop after a few seconds. Yuri’s very sure if they weren’t being mostly supported by Otabek right now, they would’ve fallen to their knees. It’s almost scary to let go, to let someone mold them on their hands and give up control, but it also kicks something inside Yuri into gear, makes adrenaline rush through their veins in a new, exciting way.

And Yuri wouldn’t be Yuri if they didn’t dive head first into things, recklessly and fiercely.

Otabek takes his time exploring Yuri, finding the places they’re most sensitive on — directly over their pulse on the side of their neck and over their collarbones, where he scrapes with his teeth and is rewarded with a whimper. Yuri doesn’t know how long they’ve been out here because Otabek is slow and methodic and it has reduced Yuri to a bundle of nerve endings and a pair of oxygen-deprived lungs. They’ve lost sense of their body, besides from their neck, lips and collarbones, which are the places Otabek’s lips keep alternating between.

They haven’t even been able to reciprocate, only standing there dazed and pliant, at the mercy of Otabek’s lips and hands. It comes back to them in a rush, and they feel slightly guilty at the thought, finally making sense of their body and moving their hands from Otabek’s hips to the belt loops on his jeans, hooking their fingers through them, tugging. Otabek looks up, one eyebrow arched up in question, and there’s a blush over his cheeks and a certain crazed glint on his eyes that makes Yuri think maybe they didn’t even _have_ to reciprocate for Otabek to enjoy himself. But it still feels somehow wrong to not give back, still knows people always praise them the most when they’re giving and being used.

So they tug on Otabek’s belt loops once more, smiling a little bit apologetically. “Can I?”

“You don’t have to.” Otabek says, firm and honest, but Yuri knows he wants it. And they want it too, so they tell him as much.

“I want to.”

Yuri doesn’t wait for a reply this time, fearing Otabek might take it — this, the kisses, _them_ — all back. Their fingers start blindly looking for Otabek’s belt, clumsy hands trying their best at unbuckling it. They actually manage to do it, a wavery smile on their face as they look up at Otabek and kiss him, and then the door to the Ice Castle swings open.

The noise startles them both, finally breaking that little bubble they had seemed to be enveloped in and very clearly reminding them that they’re in a public space. Yuri’s hands pull back from Otabek’s belt like the metal just started burning up, their eyes casted down. Otabek moves his hands slowly, disentangling his fingers from Yuri’s hair and moving both to rest at Yuri’s hips.

“You need anything? Snacks? A condom?”

Viktor’s voice booms through the alleyway. Yuri looks at Otabek with pleading eyes and crimson red cheeks. A chorus of pot-drunk high-pitched, familiar giggles follow the statement and if Yuri goes on a homicidal rampage and suspiciously the only dead bodies found after it are identified as Viktor Nikiforov and Christophe Giacometti, well, they fucking had it coming.

“Wait, shh!” Viktor says, very possibly trying to shush Chris’ giggles and failing miserably, which makes him explode into giggles as well. Yuri holds their breath. “I don’t think they’re here, Chris.”

That seems to sober Chris up, if only enough for him to stop giggling and sound disappointed and confused when he speaks, “What? But I swear I saw them go out this door a couple minutes ago.”

“Well, maybe they already got on with it and went home, if you know what I mean.”

Even if Yuri isn’t looking, they just _know_ Viktor is wriggling his eyebrows at Chris. They slap a hand against their forehead.

There’s an outraged, dramatic gasp, probably from Chris. “So quick?”

“They’re teenagers!” Viktor says, like he just had to explain the ABC’s to a 30 year old man. The _duh_ is implied, but very present. “They have all that stamina and energy. Like when we were in our twenties!”

There’s a dreamy sigh this time, like Viktor’s reminiscing his own youth, and Yuri is two seconds away from puking so much they hopefully _die_. They don’t even have to check to know the deep blush has spread all the way to their ears. Talk about embarrassing friends.

Otabek is literally the last person they wanna be reminded of right now, but when he nudges Yuri’s chin up to interlock eyes and takes his index finger to his lips in the universal sign of “stay quiet”, Yuri actually feels a little relief. Otabek nods towards the entrance of the alleway, the one that opens up towards the street, and Yuri has to contain themself not to scream: _yes, whatever, take me wherever you want, let’s just_ fucking go.

A rough, warm hand wraps around one of Yuri’s and Otabek starts tugging them towards the street, careful to keep quiet. They almost get to the end of the alleyway when Yuri gets an idea, a lazy, dangerous grin spreading across their lips. Yuri tugs on their joined hands and stops, signaling for Otabek to also stop with hand motions when he turns around with an arched brow.

As quickly and they can, Yuri pulls out their phone and starts typing a text to Katsudon.

_can you ask viktor and chris where they got their weed from? cause it looked like they were really having fun out there and i may like to try it :3c_

They only have to wait a couple of seconds after they hit send for a screech to interrupt the conversation Viktor and Chris were still having, followed by Viktor’s pleading voice.

“Yuuri, please, I’m sooorry!” He drags out the _o_ in the last word, probably in an attempt to sound adorable and get out of trouble. Judging by the lack of reaction, he doesn’t manage it.

“Fuck, you’re on your own this time. Sorry, Vitya!” Chris says, and shortly after seems to choke on something.

“You’re also in trouble! You’re not getting away!” This time it’s Katsudon’s unmistakable voice, angry and strong, that booms through the alleyway. It’s so imposing it even makes Yuri shiver a little, though they still don’t feel the littlest bit guilty about ratting them out.

“Shit.” Chris’ voice is quieter this time, and it’s definitely changed in tone. “I think I’m getting turned on.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s considering something. “Vitya, I don’t think it’s the weed.”

“That’s — that’s a conversation for another time.” Katsudon sounds flustered now, stumbling a bit over his own words, but he’s definitely still angry. His voice is firm and leaves no room for contradiction when he says, “We’re talking about the _weed issue_ now.”

There’s a chorus of steps that fades out as they walk away and into the club again, and Yuri finally explodes into the laughter they’d been containing all this time. They let it roll out, full-bodied and warm on their tongue, gasping for the breath they can’t seem to get into their lungs with all the laughing in the middle. Otabek doesn’t laugh, but when Yuri finally settles down and looks up at him, wiping tears from their eyes, he’s wearing this amused, blissful expression that makes Yuri’s insides turn.

With a grin that they can’t seem to shake off adorning their face, Yuri extends a hand in front of themself, waiting for Otabek to take it. When he does, he mirrors Yuri’s grin like the sun just came out from behind stormy clouds and Yuri swallows.

Yuri is the one that pulls this time, making them almost-run to the street, but when it’s clear they don’t know where to go from there Otabek takes the lead again. He takes them to a black motorcycle parked a block away from the club, shiny and black and so obviously his. There’s no need for words as Otabek hands them a helmet. Yuri only nods and smiles, putting it on as Otabek does the same with his.

They let him get on the motorcycle first, so when they’re sitting behind Otabek and positioning themself, the engine is already roaring between their legs. It’s new and exciting, the adrenaline coursing through their veins and making them giggle with emotion. Otabek looks back at them with a smirk, and they take off.

It takes Yuri a bit by surprise, making them let out a yelp and tightly wrapping their arms around Otabek’s torso. But it soon passes, the air rushing through the hair poking out from under their helmet seemingly taking all worries with it. So they let go of Otabek with one hand, stretching it out to feel the air pass through their fingers at an alarming speed, another short bout of laughter bubbling up their throat.

Around them, the world looks asleep. There isn’t a single car driving on the road and Yuri can’t even make out if there are people walking on the sidewalk as everything turns into a blur around them thanks to the speed. Suddenly, they get the single most strange urge they’ve ever gotten: to scream. For some reason they don’t understand, their mouth opens and their lungs expand with a heavy inhale, and they scream. The engine roars under them, almost like it’s encouraging them, so they giggle and then they scream again.

Because the city is asleep and the world is theirs and they _can_.

Because with Otabek’s warm, firm body in the circle of their arms, and with the motorcycle engine roaring under them like it’s alive, it feels like they can do anything. Take on the world, eat it whole.

 

*

 

Doors seem like worst possible invention humankind could’ve ever come up with to Yuri in this moment, because they have to stop kissing and giggling like drunk teenagers about to get caught so Otabek can open the door to his apartment.

It takes way too long, at least according to Yuri’s very important opinion — which, truly, is the only one that matters. Otabek has to fish out the keys from one of his pockets, spends too long looking for them, then spends even longer getting it into the lock and actually unlocking the door. By the time he’s done, Yuri’s pawing at Otabek’s back urgently, barely holding back from whining about how doors are awful, awful things.

Their thoughts are scattered, their brain feels almost fogged over, but in a good way. It’s not like they’re drunk, neither them nor Otabek drank a single drop of alcohol on the club, but it _feels_ like they’re drunk. They’re giggling and actually having to put effort into not tripping over their own feet as they push Otabek backwards into the apartment, quickly shedding the heavy jacket that always seems to sit on his shoulders.

Yuri stands on their tippy toes to kiss Otabek, though they don’t really have to with their heights being very similar. They’re still kissing when Yuri feels a tug on his waist, both of Otabek’s hands place there pulling them backwards. And when Yuri realizes they must be heading into the bedroom they feel a little thrill run through their body like a shock of electricity, lets themself be dragged.

Shortly after Otabek’s legs hit the edge of the bed and he finally lets go of Yuri’s mouth to sit down on the edge. Without missing a beat, Yuri sits down on his lap, legs folded and bracketing Otabek’s hips. They make quick work of their shirt, shedding it unceremoniously and throwing it across the room. Their hands fly to the edge of Otabek’s shirt as they lean down for another kiss, trying to take off his shirt too, but a pair of hands on their chest stop them before they can do anything.

Otabek is looking at them with a worried expression, a frown dipping his eyebrows low. Yuri wants to kiss in between them, but they don’t.

“Are you sure this is still okay?” Otabek asks, gentle but firm, clearly not going to proceed any further without an answer. He probably noticed Yuri’s slightly glossy eyes and frenzied stare, because he seems to be looking for something in their eyes.

And Yuri is almost annoyed, wants to slap at Otabek for taking him down from that headspace they’d found themselves in. But in some deep, primal part of themself they also know this is important, that consent isn’t something they should skip in any circumstances, so they make their best effort at clearing the fog over their brain and slowing down for a second. It takes a few seconds and one or two deep breaths, but when they meet Otabek’s eyes again, theirs are clear and present.

“Yes. It’s more than okay,” Yuri reassures him, one of their hands leaving Otabek’s shirt and going to his face instead. They lean down for a quick peck at his lips and when they pull back the frown has disappeared from Otabek’s eyebrows and there’s a proud smile on his face.

Otabek nods. “Good.”

And just as fast as the moment was broken it starts back up again, frenzied but gentle hands roaming over each other’s bodies, Yuri’s shedding Otabek’s shirt. There’s a sharp non-painful sensation at Yuri’s waist that makes their breath hitch. They realize where it came from when Otabek’s hand pulls at the elastic of their fishnets again, letting it slap against their belly. Yuri feels like they’re burning up.

Otabek is grinning against their skin as he leaves kisses over their jawline. “You know, it was pretty hard to stay level-headed with you sitting on top of me like that.”

Yuri’s confused for a moment, until they remember they had taken off their shirt and so had stayed only in their fishnets and high-waisted shorts, their blonde hair messy from all the previous kissing falling softly on their shoulders. A quiet laugh shakes their shoulders as they bury their hands on Otabek’s hair, who is now peppering slow kisses to their neck.

“Then don’t. Stay level-headed, that is,” Yuri says, an edge of a challenge to their voice. Otabek stills.

He looks up from Yuri’s neck, a serious look in his eyes. He considers something for a moment and then smiles, almost sad. “You don’t want that.”

“You don’t know what I want,” Yuri snaps back, a little too quickly, a bit of childish annoyance slipping into their tone. They blush a little, but don’t back down.

It makes Otabek laugh, but it’s not patronizing; just amused. “Well, you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Yuri says, proudly, and drags Otabek’s face closer to theirs again by pushing his head with the hands still tangled up in his hair. “I’m always right. Now kiss me.”

“Yes, your Highness.” Otabek’s making fun of them, they know it, but Yuri can’t find it in themself to care when Otabek’s lips are on theirs the next second and they’re kissing, slow and every kind of perfect.

Yuri has had the same feeling many times while they’re with Otabek, where everything feels almost too perfect to be real. It creeps up on them silently as they’re holding hands, smiling, kissing, and it makes them feel like any time now they’re gonna wake up and find out Otabek was, in fact, too perfect to be real and they just dreamed him up. The most rational part of their brain tells them it’s nonsense, that he’s real and alive under their hands, breathing and being.

So Yuri listens to that voice, runs their hands over Otabek’s stomach and over his chest, feels his heart beat under their hand. And Otabek’s hands help, because they’re heavy and warm with life, slightly rough as they caress Yuri’s back and hips. It all helps them ground themself in reality, the same way their grandpa’s soft but stern voice calls them back when they start daydreaming. It’s comforting in its familiarity, which is crazy, because they’ve only known Otabek for a couple of weeks. But they don’t question it, the same way they don’t question the heat pooling on their lower abdomen and the quickening pace of their breath.

If Yuri is good at anything, is at acting on their gut feeling, chasing after things until they become theirs. With Otabek finally under them, the only thing left to do is just _doing_.

After a few more moments of that slow, tortuous kissing, Otabek scoots back on the bed to lay on it. He takes off his pants quickly, discarding them next to the bed, and invites Yuri with both hands. Yuri, still sitting at the foot of the bed, smiles and shivers with anticipation. They crawl towards Otabek on all fours, watches his eyes darken just slightly.

When Yuri finally reaches Otabek and goes to sit on top of him, Otabek suddenly flips them so Yuri’s back is resting against the bed. They let out a surprised giggle and smile up at Otabek, their hair splayed all around them on the white covers of the bed. Otabek returns a small smile of his own before busying himself with leaving a trail of wet kisses down Yuri’s chest and stomach. Yuri sucks in a breath, their hand immediately flying to Otabek’s hair and the other gripping the covers next to their head.

But Otabek takes his time, seems to be in no rush as he kisses and massages Yuri’s body, his hands turning Yuri into play dough under him. He kisses Yuri like one might kiss the gold at the end of the rainbow: like something precious and irreplaceable, almost inexplicable in its own existence. Otabek kisses and kisses, adoration written in his every line and caress, disarming and laying Yuri bare like they’ve never been before.

His hands slip under Yuri to massage at their back while he places kisses on their taut belly, feels the muscles shifting under his lips when Yuri arches into his touch and slightly off the bed.

Yuri’s hand tightens on Otabek’s hair when he reaches the elastic of their fishnets, keeps going over the fabric until he stops at the hem of their shorts. He unbuttons the shorts quickly, and silently urges Yuri to lift up their hips so he can slide them off. Yuri obeys and the shorts are off, leaving them only in their fishnets and underwear. Otabek takes one long look at them like he’s committing it to memory — Yuri breathing heavily on the bed, flushed down to their neck — and then moves to take off the fishnets as well.

Once the skin is fully exposed, Otabek focuses on exploring it. He continues the line of wet kisses over the newly discovered skin, scraping just the tiniest bit of teeth over Yuri’s hipbone, which makes their breath hitch and their hips buck. It makes Yuri blush and look away from Otabek’s amused stare, as if an involuntary reaction is anything to be ashamed of at this point.

If you ask them, Otabek is taking way too much time in whatever he’s doing. But also, this whatever he’s doing? It’s driving Yuri insane. It’s not like they haven’t been touched before; they have touched and been touched, but as it seems to happen with every experience they share with him, Otabek somehow manages to tint all these familiar things in a new, exhilarating shade. And, to be honest, Yuri doesn’t think they’ve ever been touched quite this way. Other people have been awed by their beauty, sure, and have touched them like they were made of fragile diamond, but nobody before has made them feel this — this inexplicable electricity running all throughout their body, this shiver-inducing expectation for the next brush of lips, this vulnerability that makes them feel like they actually belong in their own skin.

With every touch of Otabek’s lips to their skin, Yuri feels like a new layer of this armour they’ve been wearing their whole life is shed.

When Otabek comes up for another kiss after what feels like a year spent kissing Yuri’s skin, Yuri feels the lightest they’ve ever felt. They’re so relaxed and blissful it’s almost hard to open up their eyes back up. Otabek nudges their noses together, making Yuri laugh and urging them to fully open their eyes. They’re met with Otabek’s face hovering a few inches over theirs, almost blinding in the way it’s radiating happiness and this other feeling Yuri can’t quite place, but it looks almost like pride. His eyes are rich and warm, and they’re looking at Yuri with the most adoring look they’ve ever seen.

Otabek may be quiet and he may talk more in body language than anything else, but his eyes are definitely the door to his soul, basically an open book for his emotions. Yuri can only hope since they’re opposites in how they communicate, their emotions don’t show on their eyes, because otherwise they’ve been fucked since the first time they laid eyes on Otabek.

Yuri puts a strand of hair behind Otabek’s ear, only to have it fall back again. With a frown, they pull it back again and again, finally deciding with frustration just to keep it there by putting a hand to the side of Otabek’s face. Otabek is silently laughing.

“You’re wonderful,” he says, the tail end of the laugh still clinging to his voice.

Yuri’s first impulsive reaction is to say, _no, I’m not_. The second is to shoot back, _no, you are_. Both are equally terrible in different aspects, so instead they pull Otabek’s face back down and kiss him, chaste and innocent. They spend a few more moments lazily making out before Otabek breaks the silence again.

“Do you wanna sleep?”

Yuri has to actually consider it for a second. They’re so relaxed and content it would be just so easy to fall asleep like this, but there’s another way they could be even more relaxed. They reach up to peck at Otabek’s lips, then shake their head.

“No, I -,” they say, and blush, because they can’t really say it outright.

They choose to take Otabek’s preferred method of communication and _show_ it. Their hands move from his head to his hips, and they lift up theirs until they brush with Otabek’s. The contact makes them gasp, taking even them by surprise. Otabek’s attention had been so overwhelming, erasing any other thought in their head, that they had forgotten they’d been half-hard basically since they stepped into the bedroom.

Otabek is looking at them with careful eyes, gauging their reaction. “Are you sure? That can wait for another time.”

Yuri shakes their head again, looking at Otabek’s eyes to show they’re being honest. “No, it’s fine. We don’t have to, uh — fuck. I just wanna be with you.” It’s the corniest thing Yuri’s ever said and it slipped out of their mouth almost without their consent, so when they fully realize what they said, they look away from Otabek’s eyes and blush.

But a hand moves their face back towards Otabek, who places a kiss on their forehead. Otabek nods. “Alright. Can I touch you?” Yuri nods, their bottom lip trapped in between their teeth. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t like.”

Yuri nods again, but this time Otabek doesn’t see it because he’s buried his face on the crook of Yuri’s neck again. They can feel his hand skirting down their body, its familiar touch sparking up the skin on its trail. When his hand sneaks under their underwear, wraps around their not-fully-hard cock, Yuri lets out a sigh and moves their hands from Otabek’s hips to his back, wraps their arms around him as far as they can.

Otabek’s hand is slow, just like his kisses, but it’s also just the right amount of tight. The movements get Yuri’s breath heavy in no time again, makes them buck their hips into the fist of Otabek’s hand. It’s not frenzied or rough, but the pleasure courses through Yuri’s body like lightning, fast and unexpected, making their orgasm build up probably faster than they would’ve liked. So when their muscles start tensing dangerously, they start pawing at Otabek’s back.

“Wait, wait…,” they say breathlessly. Otabek’s hand stops moving immediately and they whine in protest. “I didn’t mean _that_ , I just —” One of their hands move from Otabek’s back to his hips, shyly pulling at the elastic of his underwear to indicate their purpose. “You too.”

Otabek gives out a little laugh. Yuri is surprised to find him a little breathless, too. “Sure.”

He uses his free hand to shove his underwear down just enough for his cock to spring out, uses that same hand to shove Yuri’s underwear further down too. He grinds down, making their erections slide against each other. Yuri sucks in a sharp breath, burying their nails in Otabek’s skin.

“‘S this okay?” He asks, mouthing it along Yuri’s jaw.

“More than,” Yuri replies, a breathy moan escaping from their mouth as soon as Otabek wraps a hand around the both of them. “Yeah.”

It doesn’t take long at all for Yuri’s orgasm to build back up, mostly because they were so close already, and now the added sensation seems to make their body run ten times hotter. Their muscles tense and their toes curl as they come, pleasure running through every of their nerve endings and leaving them exhausted as the aftershocks calm down.

Otabek takes a little more time, fucking into his own fist and mouthing along Yuri’s neck, his head buried in it. Yuri can tell when he gets close by the way his breath starts to hitch and he lets out tiny moans and groans. They encourage him with sweet words directly to his ear, and Otabek comes over their stomach with Yuri’s name on his lips. It sends shivers down their spine.

It takes them a couple of seconds to regain their breath fully, but shortly after Otabek walks towards a door that Yuri supposes is the bathroom, because he returns with a wet cloth. He carefully cleans the mess on Yuri’s stomach with it, making sure to get everything and placing a small kiss just above their belly button before walking back to the bathroom to leave the cloth.

Yuri does nothing, but lay there, too relaxed to even offer to help. There is a pleasant buzz running through their muscles, like the ache after a whole night of dancing, but _better_. They only move when Otabek climbs into bed again to curl against his side like a cat, one leg throw over one of Otabek’s, who makes sure to pull some covers over them.

After a moment, Otabek starts humming some song Yuri can’t recognize. The soft vibrations make them start nodding off, their eyes slipping shut slowly but surely.

“That one time,” Otabek starts, and Yuri doesn’t open their eyes, but they move their thumb over Otabek’s chest to let him know they’re listening. “That one time I went to the Ice Castle, I saw you there.”

This time, Yuri _does_ open their eyes. They push themselves up onto their elbows so they can take a look at Otabek’s face, but he’s laying with his head pillowed in his own arms and looking very intently at the ceiling. With a small smile, Yuri quietly goes back to their earlier position curled up next to him.

“I know I said the Ice Castle was what made me decide to become a DJ, but…” he trails off, and the next time he talks his voice is small and intimate. “I think it was you. You barely looked sixteen, I wondered why they had let you in.” He snorts and Yuri punches him softly on the ribs.

They very clearly remember their first night at the Ice Castle, and how young they looked between everyone else on the dancefloor. It’s not like they look much older almost two years later, but it feels like they fit in with them now, somehow.

“You looked so out of place in the middle of all those people, but you were dancing like you didn’t care about _anything_ but the music. You were so shameless in your joy, I just —” Otabek’s voice is fond and full of memories. He’s talking like one would talk about a very important inspirational figure, and it puts knots into Yuri’s stomach. “I thought, I wanna make people feel like that. Make them feel like they can dance their problems away, if only for the night.”

There’s a silence, and then Otabek runs a hand through Yuri’s hair. Yuri looks up, finds Otabek looking at them with a small smile on his face and a faint blush high on his cheeks.

“I never thought I’d see you again. When I saw you at KING, I thought I was hallucinating at first. But... “ He looks up again, breaking eye contact. “You dance like no other. There’s no one else in the world that looks like you out on that dancefloor, Yura.”

Otabek seems to notice the slip of the nickname, for which he blushes, but doesn’t take it back. Yuri smiles. Otabek suddenly starts moving, rearranging the covers and his body so he ends up facing Yuri, with the blonde’s head against his chest. He places a kiss on top of Yuri’s head, and sighs.

“Thank you.” His voice is sleepy, clearly drifting off to sleep, but it holds so much sentiment and honesty.

_No, no. Thank you_ , Yuri thinks, but the words get stuck on their throat. They want to scream them, release them onto the world for everyone to hear, but they refuse to be let out. So instead Yuri presses a kiss against Otabek’s chest with tears prickling their eyes, a blush burning up their cheeks, and a heart full of something warm and beautiful.

 

*

 

**_Two months later._**

A chair is toppled back suddenly, the loud noise making everyone jolt.

“Royal flush, motherfuckers!” Yuri shouts, standing up from their chair, a crazed look of triumph in their eyes as they slam their hand of poker face up on the table for everyone to see.

A collective groan goes around the table, all of the players putting down their cards at the confirmation of Yuri, in fact, having a royal flush. Chris lets out a dramatic sigh, slumping on his chair next to Viktor.

“So, do socks count as one or two pieces of clothing?” Chris asks, peeking up curiously from where he’s already unlacing his shoes. Viktor’s eyes seem to sparkle.

Yuri scowls at him. “We’re not playing _that_ kind of poker, dumbass.”

Chris looks genuinely surprised and confused at that. “Wait, we’re not?”

“No-o,” Yuri says, accentuating it by pulling all of the money in the middle towards Otabek’s and theirs side of the table. Otabek gives them a silent thumbs up. They pull the chair back up from the floor where it lay, sit on it and start counting the money. “Besides, Katsudon is nowhere near drunk enough to allow that.”

There is a tiny noise of protest, vaguely coming from Katsudon and Phichit’s side of the table, but there is no other comment after that, so Yuri counts it as a win. They can feel somebody’s eyes looking at them, but they don’t look up from their task.

“We shouldn’t have played in pairs,” Viktor comments, which attracts Yuri’s attention at last. They halt their counting, looking at Viktor’s pout with a raised eyebrow.

“You do realize I don’t know how to play poker, right?” They ask.

“Well, you do now!” Viktor replies, gesturing with dramatic hands to the sum of money now resting in front of them. “Also, I now realize when people call someone a _poker face_ they mean that literally, and it’s too much of an advantage. No offense, Otabek.”

Otabek shrugs. “None taken.”

Yuri finishes counting the money, which had pooled considerably throughout the rounds, and shoves half of it silently towards Otabek sitting next to them. Otabek shakes his head and pats Yuri’s head once, letting them know they’re not accepting the money. Yuri blushes, but frowns and rolls their eyes, pocketing the full amount. They’re gonna make Otabek accept half of it later, somehow.

For a moment, the table is silent as they all return their cards, everyone but Yuri and Otabek taking sips of their glasses of red wine every once in a while. Chris starts shuffling the deck, preparing for another round as Phichit and Katsudon chatter away, like they always do. Viktor is absentmindedly playing with loose strands of hair that fall out of the messy bun on top of his head. Yuri tries to make eye contact with him, but Viktor is too busy lost in his thoughts, so they sigh and snap their fingers two times.

“Hey, old man,” Yuri snarks. Viktor looks back at him, making an interested sound. Yuri huffs in annoyance, but continues, gesturing with a nod of their head towards Chris shuffling the deck. “I’ve got a proposition for you. A game.”

That seems to make Viktor perk up, makes him a lot more interested in the conversation now. “Oooh, I love when we play games, Yurio! We haven’t in a while.”

“One more round, just you and me. The winner gets to decide what the loser does,” Yuri explains in short sentences, watches a spark of something dangerous flash across Viktor’s eyes, which makes them shudder just a tiny bit.

Chris starts dealing each of them their cards.

“Sure. I remember when you used to ask for this kind of stuff all the time when we were younger,” Viktor starts, expression carefully neutral as he looks through his hand. “You just love to make people do what you say, huh?”

Viktor raises an eyebrow at them, smile sweetly venomous. Yuri breathes in through their nose, careful to keep a neutral face. They know Viktor is only trying to tease them so they lose their composure and reveal their emotions over their hand, but since they already know his dirty, dirty style of poker they’re not gonna fall for it.

“Only because you never do what other people ask you to do, even when they ask nicely.” Yuri looks through their hand twice more, then plucks out two cards from it, setting them face down on the table. “Two.”

Chris takes the cards Yuri placed on the table, dealing them another two to replace. When their hand doesn’t look like they expected it to, they decide maybe bluffing will be their best bet this time around. They smile, trying to inject confidence into it.

“Three,” Viktor calls, placing three cards on the table. Chris deals him another three.

“Let me tell you this. What I want you to do is something simple and will actually benefit you over me, so in reality, I’m making you a favor.” Yuri takes out three cards for their hand, places them face down on the table. “Three.”

When Chris deals them their three new cards, the confidence turns real. With four Queens and a Five of Diamonds, they’ve got the third best kind of hand they could’ve pulled — which, as they had recently learned, is actually pretty fucking good in poker. And maybe the latest round had gotten to their head, sure, but something in their gut told them they could win with this hand.

“Oh?” Viktor arches an eyebrow, a certain interest in his face that Yuri can’t tell if it’s real or fake. He places one card face down on the table. “One. And what would that be?”

Yuri examines Viktor’s face as closely as he can while Chris hands him his new card. There’s a twitch in his eyebrow, but nothing else, and Yuri curses him to all hell and themself for forgetting Viktor’s laser-point focus was actually still present, buried somewhere underneath all the absentmindedness and love-struck air-headedness.

“You know Otabek’s contract with KING ended a week ago, right? I want you to hire him for the Ice Castle.” With a sly smile and an air of triumph, Yuri places their hand face down on the table. “ _Quad_.”

And it’s not like they hadn’t discussed it; Yuri’s intentions in meeting Otabek were first and foremost to steal him over for the Ice Castle, although in the end they had gotten so much more out of that deal than just a new DJ for the club. It shouldn’t have surprised anybody in the table, except it does. It breaks Viktor’s focus and makes him arc both eyebrows high in genuine surprise and confusion.

“But he already signed it,” Viktor says.

Yuri turns in their chair, eyes big and round, to look straight at Otabek. They punch him in the arm once, not with their full strength but still not just for play. “Why hadn’t you told me, asshole?!”

There’s a slight flush in Otabek’s cheeks, sign of him actually being caught off-guard and not having expected this situation. He scratches at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was waiting for the best moment to tell you.”

“Argh!” Yuri groans, letting themself fall back on their chair once again and covering their face with their hands. “Now I gotta find something else for Viktor to do.”

“But Yurio,” Viktor’s voice comes, very obviously fake-innocent. Yuri lets down their hands to watch as Viktor’s smile turn wolfish and he lays down his hand. “Five of a Kind.”

Yuri gapes at the five cards spread on the table in front of them: four aces and a joker. They throw themself towards the table again, an accusatory finger pointing at Viktor.

“What the fuck?! How did you cheat, old man?”

Viktor sucks in an appalled breath, a hand over his heart. “How dare you insinuate I cheated?” The dramatics vanish as his eyes turn mischievous and he taps a finger against his lips in an obvious sign that he’s thinking something over. “Now, what shall I make you do…”

“Oh!” Phichit chimes in immediately, moving his chair closer to Viktor and Chris. “What do you think about…”

Yuri tunes them out after Phichit’s sentence trails off into a whisper. They’re doomed. They had been basically the ones to pull the trigger, to put Viktor, Chris and Phichit to come up with an idea to thoroughly embarrass them with, Katsudon anxiously hovering over the three of them, probably keeping them from going too over the top. They lay back against the back of the chair again, letting out a heavy sigh and closing their eyes.

Lips brush against their forehead and Yuri opens up one eye to find Otabek smiling apologetically at them. “I’m sorry?”

“Shut up,” Yuri grits out, closing their eye back down and swatting blindly at Otabek’s face, which makes him let out a soft laugh. Then, they grope around until they find Otabek’s hand, lacing their fingers through his. “You’re gonna pay for this by working at the Ice Castle for the rest of your life without pay. And when the old man gets too old and I start managing it, you’ll still work for me. Though by then I may have forgiven you a little and I’ll pay you just enough for you to be able to live.”

This makes Otabek’s laugh a little more loudly. It makes Yuri remember not too long ago, when they were first meeting each other and how it seemed so foreign to see Otabek laugh so openly, then. Now, Otabek’s laughter is more common, has become such an integral part of him: the way his eyes scrunch up when he laughs, the way his eyes sparkle afterwards, the residual smile that haunts his face minutes after he finishes laughing. It makes him look so much more like himself that Yuri would never ask for a world where they couldn’t see Otabek laugh as frequently as he does now.

_It feels warm, like home_ , Yuri thinks, their linked fingers a solid reminder that they also have this, now.

“Yurio! I’ve decided what I want you to do!” Viktor’s voice is too loud and way too excited.

Yuri sighs, stands up and places a quick peck to Otabek’s lips. “Wish me luck.”

“You’ll survive,” Otabek says, disentangling their fingers slowly.

“Maybe, but my dignity might not,” Yuri replies as they walk away and into the circle their friends have formed. Phichit is standing a few feet away, phone and camera app probably ready, and Viktor and Chris are still discussing something. Whatever it is they’re planning, it’s gonna be _bad_.

The near future may look pretty awful, but as Yuri spends a night surrounded by their friends and their boyfriend — this weird, stitched-together family of theirs — they can’t help but actually be pretty fucking excited by what the future has in store for all of them.


End file.
